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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25403812">Uncle Billy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGillette/pseuds/MissGillette'>MissGillette</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Secrets, First Time, Happy Ending, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Misunderstandings, No Incest, Older Billy Hargrove, Phone Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:02:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>88,575</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25403812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissGillette/pseuds/MissGillette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve confessing his love to friend-of-the-family Billy Hargrove sets off a chain of events that reveals a family secret hidden for decades.</p><p>-</p><p>Counting off on his fingers, Steve paces while he mumbles, “I love you, I’ve loved you for a while now, I’m not gonna tell anybody, I know you could get in trouble and I don’t want that.” He stresses that with an exaggerated face and hands scrubbing through his hair. “Just… play it cool. Billy is cool, he won’t get mad.”</p><p>It hadn’t even occurred to him until this moment that Billy might get upset with him. What 16 year old harbors an awful crush on someone old enough to be their dad?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>149</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>351</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Steve is 16 in chapters one and two. For the rest of the fic he's 17. Billy is 39. Don't like, don't read. The reveal isn't until chapter nine, so buckle up if you're waiting for the twist. Enjoy Steve's rose-tinted, idolized view of Billy slowly breaking down as the chapters go on. Updates on Mondays.</p><p>Warning for brief amounts of racism/classism courtesy of Steve's dad.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Harrington house is not in the greatest location for the big, blow-out Christmas parties Robert and Theresa throw every year. For family, for friends, for the upper echelons in Chicago. But it is the correct size to handle their guest list. The house is a maze of people, smells, and noises for Steve to gallop wildly through. The other kids tagging along with their parents are awfully young. Too young for him to entertain himself. He’s not a baby anymore. He’s 16, now, practically an adult—he boasts to anyone who will listen to him for more than a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, it’s not these annoying kids or stuffy adults he races back and forth, up and down the house for. No, he keeps eyes and ears out for one person. Dad said he’d be here, he always shows up for Christmas, maybe the flight from San Diego got delayed, maybe he broke down on the way, oh Jesus what if he’s not coming, what if—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Front door whipping open with a curl of snow sneaking in, any adult who recognizes that devilish face with facial hair and grin to match crows in excitement. And somehow, they clear a path for the one person happiest of all to see him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve barely gets a look at Billy before screeching, his voice still cracking, “Uncle Billy!” And then unceremoniously runs and launches himself at the towering adult. Well… not so towering anymore, comparatively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ocean blue eyes fly open wide despite Billy squared up, ready to catch Steve like every year. It’s not so easy with deer legs leaping higher and longer, almost sending their heads to crack together. And regardless of a few adults sucking their teeth at Steve’s antics—Dad told him to stop doing this, but he can’t help it—Steve cuddles right up to Billy and holds him tightly with arms and legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy doesn’t hug him back, actually nudges Steve away by a slim shoulder. He’ll fill out eventually, he just knows it. Steve can’t help but shrink a little despite Billy’s strong arms around him, hitching him on a cocked hip while blue eyes look him up and down. With a thoughtful frown under them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regarding Steve’s parents walking up, both eyeing Steve in a stern kind of way, Billy asks casually, “Bobby, you got a kid running around I didn’t know about?” He looks back to Steve, glances up and down Steve, and then bounces the gangly teenager on his hip. “This can’t be little Stevie, no way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve ignores the way Mom purses her lips and stares up at Dad with that thin, inpatient frown of hers. She doesn’t trust him. Steve picks up on that already. He just hopes they don’t get divorced. It’s something he’s been dying to talk to Billy about. All the things he can’t tell his parents, Tommy, anybody else. Billy understands him better than anyone, always has. And he’s missed Billy so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The longer Billy blinks up at him, the wider and shyer Steve’s smile grows. His hair is getting long in the front, parents threatening to have it cut anytime he acts up, and he lets it fall in his face. Anything to soften the intense eyes eating him up. But it’s just for fun, and Billy grins up at him while squeezing him tighter. Steve can’t help the way he shivers and squeezes Billy back with his legs. He’s been waiting all night for this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh nope, my mistake.” He angles all that California sun and wickedness Robert’s way. He winks at them, probably more so at Theresa than Robert. “I’d recognize that Harrington charm anywhere, but that big hair? That’s all you, Theresa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now he’s set a fire to the sawdust of Theresa’s suspicions and distrust. She’s the one to regard Billy thinly, greet him like she’s supposed to, and then drags Robert away. Mom always gets an attitude when Billy comes over, but Billy doesn’t exactly avoid pushing her buttons. Like it’s a game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t care, just smooths his hands over the back of Billy’s jacket. He never dresses warmly enough when he shows up for Christmas. At least it gives Steve the excuse to cuddle up closer, steal a whiff of whatever cologne Billy is wearing, the scent of his hair pulled back and folded over itself into a bun. Billy snorts level with Steve’s jaw and just hikes the teenager back up on his hip. They’re mindless to everyone returning to the party. Billy steps into it only to kick the front door shut all the way shut. A crack welcomed snow into the foyer. He just as quickly leans against the door and grins at Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But no really kid, you shot up!” Billy stares up at him so bright and alive. Amazed. “Look how big you are, god damn. You’re gonna be taller than me if you don’t watch it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wouldn’t that be something? He’s looked up, up, up at Billy all his life. Always reaching to be held, to be picked up. To have Billy toss him onto his shoulders and carry him around tucked to the back of his neck and head. Steve is too big for that anymore. And besides, the day after Christmas usually starts with a lecture. That Steve needs to behave at the Christmas party. That he needs to act right and stop treating Uncle Billy like a jungle gym. That it’s unbecoming to carry on with Robert’s fraternity brother from college, laughing and running around like children. Steve huffs while imagining the lecture tonight will cause. He doesn’t care. His time with Billy is precious and limited. He has to make the most of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” he says with his head tucked to Billy’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s shy around people, yes, but with Billy it’s so much more. Every year it gets harder and harder to look the man in the eyes. He worries Billy can see him—he’s so smart and clever, surely Billy sees right through him to his scared, lonely insides. Even now Steve sort of wiggles in the older man’s arms. He has so much he needs to tell Billy. This year he’ll tell Billy the truth. About everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing his cracking voice, Steve tucks into Billy’s neck and chilly hair when he goes to hug him properly. The boy holds tension in his shoulders and thighs until Billy chuckles under him and holds him back. Billy’s arm under his butt doesn’t tremble from his weight, and his free hand petting up and down Steve’s back is warm and firm. Jesus, he’s missed this so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Biting his bottom lip to not just blurt everything right now, Steve settles with a soft, “I missed you, Uncle Billy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even that comes out strained and tight. Because it’s true, yes, but it’s so much more than that. The days after Christmas are the worst for Steve. Lonely and empty, Billy’s next visit is either 364 days away or unknown. Billy can’t always make it for Christmas. Blushing hot and ugly in Billy’s hair, Steve recalls two years ago when that exact thing had happened. And Steve locked himself in his room and just cried and cried… Only for Billy to call the next day to talk to the family. He apologized to Steve right off the bat. At the time, Steve just wanted to see him and hear him. Now he thinks maybe his parents told Billy how he carried on and on, tried to muffle his crying in a pillow. It’s shameful, something Steve never wanted Billy to know, and he just wraps himself tighter around the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hand on his back pauses, and then he murmurs quietly in Steve’s ear, “Hey, what’s wrong, little man? Normally you’d be talking my ear off right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just gives a hopeless sort of shrug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy hums between them and then sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m starving after that shit flight and long drive from Chicago. So how about I grab a plate and we can sit down ‘n you can tell me what’s bothering you. That sound good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hates that Billy already knows something is up. Billy isn’t, like, the greatest with kids. Hadn’t warmed up to Steve so much until he turned twelve and could have an actual thought instead of screaming and running around hyper as hell. But when he was twelve, sixth grade was a big deal, and for the first time his classmates could see how he’s spotted all over. Moles and freckles. And the other boys teased him and Tommy in the locker room while they dressed down for gym. Steve just wanted to curl up and disappear back then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until Billy had set him straight, showed him spots all over his back, too. The dark mole on his left shoulder. That it was normal. To Steve, if someone beautiful like Billy can have freckles and moles, then so can he. It meant everything to Steve then, still does now. It’s maybe when and why this… feeling started. This warm, squirmy thing in Steve’s belly whenever he looks at Billy or Billy smiles at him. He doesn’t feel that way with anyone else. Like he’s supposed to. Like Tommy tells him all the time that they’ll fool around with lots of girls when they start going to parties. They run the sophomores, and their power will only increase as they draw closer to being seniors. They’ll be kings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t want to date girls and kiss them and touch them through their clothes. Like Tommy does. Well, sometimes he wants to. He’d rather be right where he is now. The center of Billy’s attention and wrapped around him. It can’t last, never does, and Steve lowers his legs with great reluctance when Billy bends at the knee to return him to the earth. When they stand straight and proper, Steve swallows hard again. His eyes are level with Billy’s throat, now. He’d have to arch up on his toes like a girl to kiss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he thinks about that. A lot. Kissing Billy and holding him, more and tighter and better than when Billy hugs him now. And other stuff he doesn’t understand, just knows it feels good to think about Billy and sort of rub himself into a pillow. Billy will understand. He knows everything, never makes Steve feel bad about himself. Steve tilts his head up with a corner of his mouth twitching to return Billy’s easy smile. Billy will understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Steve helps himself to one of Billy’s hands and guides him to the kitchen. Not that Billy needs it. He shouldn’t do this anymore. Steve knows that. It’s… different now. Somehow, in some unknowable way, he understands he shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t cuddle up to Billy, shouldn’t hold his hand. Shouldn’t want for Billy to pet his hair like he used to whenever he’d say goodbye. It’s something that just happens when people grow up, he guesses. His parents don’t touch him much anymore either. It’s mostly just him and Tommy, thick as thieves. It’s not enough, though, and Steve almost pouts when Billy has to take his hand back to grab food from the post-dinner spread in the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every sofa and chair in the house is taken. Steve already knows that, had combed the house a hundred times before Billy showed up. So when Billy hands him a plate with food, not quite to match his own, Steve just leads the way back to the stairs and to his room. He’d shut the door when the first couple of younger kids showed up. They’re in the basement, making a mess of his old toys and stuff. He doesn’t care about any of that. He’s finally getting what he wants when they sit on his bed, door left open a crack to let the din of the party blanket them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy sucks his teeth while looking around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really wish your mom would chill out and let you put posters. She’d have a cow if she coulda seen how me and your dad lived together. Sometimes we couldn’t see the floor of the frat house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins and laughs about that. It’s enough to unwind Steve’s shoulders from his ears, enough to make him nibble on a finger sandwich from his plate. Chicken lunch meat and cheese. Because Billy knows he doesn’t like the turkey or roast beef ones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sniffing and talking with food in his mouth, Billy goes on, “Sorry I missed dinner, buddy. I hope you didn’t think I wasn’t coming, I woulda called and told your dad, you know that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s parents had definitely said something. He wishes he could forget that Christmas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yea, I know, it’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy eyes him with another sandwich pinched between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I guess that isn’t why you look so down, huh? So what’s up, lay it on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another shrug and silence. He wants to tell Billy everything. It’s just difficult to pry his teeth apart and force the words out. He doesn’t want Billy to hate him or think he’s weird. Everybody else would. It’s why he hasn’t told anybody. Billy being the center of his problems doesn’t help Steve unlock his tight lips. He has everything to lose, telling Billy the truth. So they eat in silence while Billy waits him out. It isn’t the first time they’ve done this song and dance, and they both know Steve will give it up eventually. The silence always wins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing hard, Steve nudges his plate away. He’s not hungry anyway, couldn’t hope to eat with his stomach tangled in knots like this. Dinner had been much the same while he stared across the table at Billy’s empty spot a few chairs down from Dad. Far enough away from Mom so she could avoid him—she’s crazy for not liking Billy—but close enough to Dad to chime in on conversation from their glory days. At least Billy is here now. Steve sighs as he flops onto one of his pillows and stares up at the ceiling. There aren’t even those stupid glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. His mom won’t let him have them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I’m just… thinking. About a lot of stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands on his stomach, Steve shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna be a junior next year, and my parents are hounding me about college, like I even know what I wanna do or if I even wanna go. And they want me to try out for the basketball team and go to some lame camp this summer, and I don’t wanna do any of that, but they don’t listen, you know? They don’t care about what I want, they just wanna control me and make me into a clone of them or whatever. And they say all this stuff and can’t bother to come to parent-teacher meetings or even just be here on weekends sometimes. It’s bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve glances down when weight shifts on the bed. Billy plucks their plates from the bedspread and leaves them on Steve’s desk. Messy with homework for winter break. Because teachers are cruel and assign homework for break. Who does that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All thoughts of school and his homework he probably won’t do fly out of his head when Billy returns to the bed. And hops back on his ass to the headboard to sit beside Steve. Steve’s heart skips a beat and lodges itself in his throat at the thought of Billy lying down beside him. Steve throws a wild glance to the pillow behind Billy’s back, cradling the bend in his spine and supporting him. It’s the pillow Steve grinds on when he can’t stop thinking about Billy. He’d done so this morning with the promise of Billy showing up and making his whole world brighter. If only for a few hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, your parents kinda suck,” he says with a wiry smile. “You’re a good kid, Stevie, but your parents shouldn’t have kids. They’re really bad at like… everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve snorts and murmurs, “You’re telling me. I think if I tried to talk to them about this, they’d just pat my head or raise my allowance. It sucks that they don’t like care or whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They care,” Billy insists softly, staring straight ahead at Steve’s dresser across the way. His hands rest loosely in the void where he crosses his legs. At some point, he’d toed off his boots. “They’re just not good at taking care of anyone but themselves. They love you, though. You know that, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy finally bows his head to look at him. Steve is already all eyes on Billy and even manages to meet bright blues for a breath. Long enough to take in the freckles spattered over Billy’s nose and cheeks where the sun kisses him. Long enough to take in the strand or two of grey mixed in with dark blond. Oh and the wrinkles at Billy’s eyes when he smiles… Like Dad, but not the same. But it’s too much intensity with those blues on him. Steve’s doe eyes flinch away like always, and he ends up staring somewhere near Billy’s jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea I guess. It’s whatever, I don’t care. It just sucks not being able to talk about stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got me, don’t ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s eyes flick right back up to Billy’s for another breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s smile stretches into a grin. Always so happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you know you can tell me anything. I’m not a couple of squares like your parents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is the epitome of cool with his long hair and mysterious life in California. Billy never talks about his family. Never shows up to the house with a girlfriend, never even mentions one. Steve hates how little he knows about Billy, how he always gets so wrapped up in the sun and warmth of Billy that he never says anything of importance to the older man. It’s just stupid kid shit. Like this. Who cares if his parents are bad at parenting? Steve has known that since forever, doesn’t get upset about it anymore. It doesn’t matter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Biting his lower lip, Steve dares to roll onto his left side to face Billy. He hops closer until he’s nearly curled up around Billy’s thigh, jeans stretched tightly over muscle and skin. It’s something that’s always thrilled him about Billy. How Billy can snatch him up and toss him around like he’s nothing. Even after Dad stopped picking him up when he was little, Billy didn’t. Jumping into the pool out back has nothing on Billy launching him in the air like a pool toy only to crash into the water. He just wants to be around Billy all the time, wants someone to hug and pet his hair like when he was little. He misses that more than he can tell, and so almost tears up a little when one of Billy’s hands settles in his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, champ, tell me what’s really bothering you. You’re never this quiet with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sighs under Billy’s hand and squeezes his eyes shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been thinking a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs and tries not to shiver when Billy’s nails graze his scalp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About um… girls, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An easy grin laces through Billy’s voice when he drawls, “Oh yea? Got your eye on anybody? Got a secret girlfriend huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s mouth screws up at that, and he opens his eyes to aim a little pout up at Billy. He would never betray his feelings for Billy like that, dislikes that Billy would even insinuate that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s dumb. I don’t like girls that much, I just think about them sometimes.” Steve chews on his lip again and forces his eyes to stay on Billy’s when he adds so softly, “I… think about boys, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy just watches him carefully, hand in his hair just as gentle. Maybe he feels along the thread of Steve’s anxiety. Billy is smart like that, always knows what’s bothering Steve and ruffling his feathers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes slamming shut again, Steve grinds out, “I like a boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hand doesn’t stumble through the slow back and forth strokes over Steve’s hair. No twitch, no flinch. Nothing. Steve wishes he weren’t a coward and could open his eyes to see Billy’s face. To see what he’s thinking. If he’s uncomfortable or disgusted. It would break Steve’s heart to see that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s voice is casual and gravelly when he prods further, “You like a boy, huh? Have you told him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not ‘are you sure?’ Not ‘you’re just confused, it’ll pass.’ Just… curiosity. Acceptance?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is still tense under Billy’s hand when he shakes his head and mumbles, “I-I want to tell him. But he’d hate me or think I’m weird if he knew.” Steve finds the courage in him to peer up at Billy and meets nothing but calmness. Steve hates how his eyes sting when he croaks, “I don’t want him to hate me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s expression falls like Steve has never seen it before. Billy’s face isn’t really meant for sadness or sympathy like this. He actually looks pinched and pissed off, the closest he can get to sadness. But Steve knows he’s not mad. Red doesn’t sink into the center of Billy’s face, and his teeth don’t grit behind a snarl. Billy is lively and loud when he’s angry. Steve has only seen it once, only a glimpse as Billy and Dad argued about something when Steve was still a kid. On his birthday, whatever age it was. Billy brought him a skateboard and tried to teach him how to roll around on it. To this day, he doesn’t know what it was about or why that evening Billy shook Dad by the collar of his shirt, shoved Dad away, and then stormed out of the house. Steve was just happy when Billy called to apologize for leaving without saying goodbye. Talking to Billy was better than any card or gift he could send—he stopped getting gifts from Billy after that, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Curling down and scooping up the side of Steve’s head, Billy rumbles softly, “Hey, hey, cool it Stevie, nobody hates you. Don’t talk like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shoves himself up before he thinks about what he’s doing. Thin arms throw themselves around Billy’s neck, and Steve hides in the collar of his shirt. He’s seen Polaroids of Billy from Dad’s college days and bets Billy still wears button-ups like this with most of the shirt open. Right now, the navy blue cotton is buttoned all the way except the top one. Just enough skin peeking through for Steve to see the dips in Billy’s collarbones. And the freckles there. Steve swallows hard and presses his face flat to warm cotton and the sweet musk of Billy’s throat. His cologne is still there from this morning. Or he’d applied more. It doesn’t matter, because Steve sucks a huge lungful of it down. If only to stop himself from shaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie,” Billy says gently. Both hands flat to Steve’s back, Billy holds him close and just lets Steve feel him near. “It’s gonna be okay, buddy, you’re okay. So what you like a boy. It’s fine, you can like whoever you want, and you don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I do!” Steve whines all high in his throat. “I wanna-I wanna tell him so bad, I think about him all the time and, I guess, I just don’t want him to hate me and not be my friend anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His back does start to shake then, too much emotion for his thin body to contain. Billy shushes him and holds him tighter. He’s not quite in Billy’s lap, has never even thought about that, but just the possibility helps calm Steve down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s voice is still strangely soft when he says, “I know it’s hard, and I know it’s scary. You must like him a lot, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve bites himself to not say, ‘I love you,’ and ruin everything. Instead he nods and wiggles that much closer to Billy’s side. How he wishes Billy would scoop him up and let him sit in his lap. At least Billy’s arms around him are tight and strong. Steve couldn’t get away unless Billy let him go. It’s a sick sort of thrill despite how he’s on the verge of pathetic tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sigh tickles his big hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… That’s really something special, Steve. I’m happy for you, that you feel that way about someone. Even though it’s scary to think about, doesn’t it feel good to like someone so much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods even in his agony—Billy right here and yet a thousand miles away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll probably feel that way about lots of people as you grow up. I know it feels like it’ll be the end of the world if he doesn’t take it well or like you back, but it’s not.” A chuckle bubbles between them, and one of Billy’s hands reaches up to ruffle Steve’s hair. “You’ve got your dad’s charm, you know? You’ll be fending off all the girls and boys when you’re older, trust me. Don’t get so wrapped up in this boy. You’re still young, you’ve got everything ahead of you. Tell him, don’t tell him. No matter what happens, you’ll be okay, buddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve wishes he could believe that. Wishes he did like some boy in his classes like he should. Somehow he knows he shouldn’t feel this way about Billy. He hears it on the news all the time. About gross, old men snatching girls off the street or teachers involved with their students. The logical part of Steve knows it’s wrong. The rest of him doesn’t care, doesn’t fight it. Nobody ever has to know. He’d never tell anyone, if only Billy would like him back and give him a chance. They can just… be together in secret. When Steve is 18 it won’t matter anymore. He shudders and bites back a whimper as he sags into Billy’s firm body. Why can’t things be simple? He hates this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy just holds him and lets him fight with himself. The world keeps spinning. The party downstairs goes on. Steve just falls into this moment and gives himself over to it. All warm and comfortable, just on the edge of happiness again because Billy is here. He somehow manages not to cry or get snot or anything on Billy’s shirt. But even when he pulls himself back from the brink of a meltdown, he lingers in the loops of Billy’s arms. He doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want this stolen moment to end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must, though. Distantly, Dad’s voice rings out. Calling Billy’s name. It sneaks in through the traitorous gap Billy had left in his door and tickles their ears. At least they don’t jump apart. Billy doesn’t push him away full of shame. It’s… encouraging. When Billy shifts beside him, intent on pulling back, Steve presses his forehead to the honey and warmth of Billy’s throat. Skin on skin. He wishes he could feel the older man’s pulse through their connection. But it’s better than nothing, and Steve sits back after one more deep inhale in Billy’s neck. He’s loopy when Billy holds him by the shoulders and smiles at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I should go hang out with your dad. Think you can share me for a little while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His grin is all teeth, teasing lightness, and a wink. Steve nods like his head is attached by a string. Even though he’d rather not share Billy with anyone, of course. They separate only to rise from the bed together. When Steve tries to take their plates for them, Billy snorts and snatches them up before he gets a chance. Whether Steve is meant to follow Billy downstairs or not, he isn’t sure. He just tags along at Billy’s heels, boots heavy on the stairs after Billy slips them back on. Dad spares Steve a curious glance when Billy finds him—almost impatient, what are you doing here, go play somewhere, adults are talking. But Steve won’t be convinced and squeezes himself between Billy and the armrest of the couch when Billy sits next to Dad. It’s a tight squeeze. Squished. Steve loves it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He unfortunately tunes into the conversation between Dad and Billy right around the time Billy’s voice goes tight and bitter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just because you got married, and right out of college I might add, doesn’t make it a good idea, Bobby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be good for you! Come on, what, you gonna just surf and leach off tourists forever? Settle down, Billy, get a girl. You know: be an adult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve glances up in time to watch Billy roll his eyes. Some others join in, too, aunts and uncles who must know Billy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weren’t you seeing a girl? You said something like that the last time we saw you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea but it didn’t last.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She must not have been the one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad scoffs and shakes his head. Steve knows the motions well. Dad does the same to him whenever he brings bad grades home. More often than not, now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, Billy, just nail down a girl. A good one not some hood rat, and actually make something of your life. Best decision I ever made.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea,” Billy drawls, face pinched at the corners of his eyes, mouth tugging down. “Lemme get right on that. I’ll send you the invitations when she picks a date. We’ll have a fucking summer wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey language, Steve is right here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not for long, though. The thought of some faceless girl walking down the aisle on her father’s arm, Billy waiting all beautiful in a tux to receive her, smile on his face as he says their vows and then kisses her… Steve could throw up what little he has in his stomach. He wiggles free from between Billy and the armrest to make a made dash for a bathroom. Some adults spare his fleeing back confused looks. They murmur amongst each other—kids these days, boys do strange things at any age, he should play with the other kids. Steve doesn’t have ears for it. Not with all his concentration focused on not dry heaving on gleaming hardwood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve gets the seat lid up but nothing comes out. Sweat sticks his dinner clothes to him as he kneels in front of the toilet and holds his hair back. Steve’s heart races and sends his chest aching the longer he sits here panting and never getting an actual breath. Is this what it feels like to die? To have the four walls of the bathroom close in on him and make each gasp harder to take than the last? Harder and harder he shakes, biting back a whine and ugly tears, and then he finally loses his stomach to the toilet. Knocking spit off his chin, he doesn’t feel any better. He just wants to curl up somewhere and hope everyone forgets about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an achievable goal with so many people cramming his house. Lips tingling from mouthwash, Steve slinks around downstairs like a mouse fleeing a broom. He spares an awful glance to the couch in the living room. Billy isn’t there anymore. Maybe he’s left. Steve bites the inside of his cheek and scurries all the faster for the stairs. For the safety of the lock on his door where solitude waits. So he can burrow into his blanket, pull it over his head, and hide for a little while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only when he passes the window in his room, throwing his stuffy polo to the floor, Billy is outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pool is covered and dry for winter. The lights out back are still on, Christmas display casting the gorgeous man in a kaleidoscope of colors. Smoke curls tight and grey off the lit end of his cigarette. Steve clings to the windowsill to watch. Dad doesn’t allow Billy to smoke around him. It’ll give him ‘ideas.’ Even though Steve isn’t interested in smoking… Much. Tommy says they should, that it’ll be cool. It certainly makes Billy look like something out of a magazine. All strong body, face carved out of stone, eyes sapphires gleaming in that stone. Steve sighs with his whole body and tucks himself to the wall and window. Cold seeps through the wall and ghosts icy fingers over his chest. He should finish undressing and just go to bed. He lingers at the window until Billy goes back inside, though. So close and yet so far away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he cries himself to sleep. Maybe he wallows in stony, silent misery until exhaustion claims him. Steve isn’t even sure how long he’s out. He’s curled up on his side facing the window one second, asleep the next, and then wakes up flat on his back. The house is mostly quiet, now. The obnoxious Christmas music has stopped, but voices still murmur through the floor. Heart lurching, Steve sits ramrod straight in his bed and wonders if Billy is still here. He at least has to say goodbye, has to make Billy promise to come back next year or try to weasel a birthday visit out of him. Steve flails as he leaps from his bed, slapping at the knob of his door to throw it open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The landing for the stairs is open to air, and he can see into the living room below. He knows Billy is here before he spots the older man. He and Dad reclaim their spots on the couch from earlier to talk. Behind them, curtains drawn back from the big windows, snow covers the yard. It had probably started snowing hard just as Steve peeled himself away from the window earlier. The conversation below is just loud enough for Steve to catch the echoes. Neither man notices him eavesdropping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everybody else was local or had a room for the night, Billy, it’s really no trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can probably make it in the rental. It’s front-wheel drive, so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guarantee the streets won’t be plowed until tomorrow morning. Unless someone hooks up a plow to their pickup, the county never sends one out here until the next day. Come on.” Dad stands up and flicks his arm, urging Billy to follow. “Pretty sure the guest room upstairs is all set up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thumbs in his pockets as he stands, Billy drawls, “No bed bugs hopefully.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve scampers back into his room while Dad huffs and grumbles about that. Not finding Billy’s dry humor funny. Through a crack in the door, Steve watches Dad and Billy break past the stairs and shuffle into a guest room. Flicking the light on, Dad turns to Billy in the doorway and shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The offer stands, old friend. You’re always welcome here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even from this distance, Billy doesn’t sound so sure. But Steve finds himself biting his lip, about to burst and yell for Billy to stay. Please stay, oh god please stay. Stay so that maybe Steve can sneak into the guest room and just talk to Billy all night, feigning an inability to sleep. And maybe they’ll drift off on the bed next to each other, and Steve can curl against all that sun and strength and just pretend for a little while. So he holds his breath while Billy steps aside to let Dad through. Dad doesn’t hesitate at all to pad back down the steps. He doesn’t hesitate because he isn’t used to people objecting to him. Steve watches Billy fist his hands, face tight, and fight with himself. Eventually he just sighs, filling up the whole landing with it, and closes the bedroom door behind him. No click of the lock follows Billy shutting the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve takes it as a sign from the universe. If it doesn’t want him to have this, it would have made Billy lock the door. Right? Or it would have made Billy try with his rental car. Billy apparently drives like a maniac, but he hasn’t crashed yet. Plus Billy is smart. He wouldn’t go crazy on the backroads of Hawkins snow covered like that. So the universe must want Steve to have this, to act on his confession he couldn’t make good on earlier when Billy was beside him. In his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to wait, though. He can’t just go poking the door open and expect a warm reception. Billy had looked deeply annoyed before closing the door. So it’s a waiting game. But for how long? Steve spends a sad amount of time just pacing and mumbling to himself. If he plans what to say, he’ll fuck it up and start stuttering and ‘umming’ his way through everything. He’s too nervous not to plan, though. So it’s a rough outline in his head. Major bullet points he needs to hit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Counting off on his fingers, Steve paces while he mumbles, “I love you, I’ve loved you for a while now, I’m not gonna tell anybody, I know you could get in trouble and I don’t want that.” He stresses that with an exaggerated face and hands scrubbing through his hair. “Just… play it cool. Billy is cool, he won’t get mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t even occurred to him until this moment that Billy might get upset with him. What 16 year old harbors an awful crush on someone old enough to be their dad? Steve groans and falls heavily back to his bed, wiggling a few times. He rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes. He knows he’s going to cry in front of Billy. There’s no way he won’t. Because either Billy will do the unthinkable and tell Steve he loves him too or he’ll do the logical thing and reject Steve. So it’s a waterworks situation no matter how he slices it. Steve groans under his hands and just lies there in the soft light of the lamp from his nightstand. He doesn’t mean to drift back to sleep. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading and commenting. Continue to do that if you don't mind lol. I wasn't expecting so many people to be interested in this fic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>This time when Steve wakes, the entire house is still. When Steve peeks out his door, the landing and the living room just below are shadowed. A chill crawls along the floor and plays games with the little hairs all over him. Steve shuts his door behind him if only to give him some warning should Mom or Dad come looking for him. He’ll hear the door open and close before they probably come ask Billy where he is. He’s planning for so much and yet nothing at all, about to send his head spinning right off his shoulders from how hyped he is. He just hopes Billy isn’t awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guest room isn’t much warmer than the hallway. Steve instantly worries Billy had to sleep in his clothes, not making for a comfortable night. But his jeans are folded on the dresser that matches Steve’s, so the older man got comfortable at some point. Steve twists the handle of the door so it’s silent when he nudges it shut. Safely on this side of the door, Steve stands nearly flush with it while staring at the occupied bed. This bedroom is too far away from the glow of the patio and Christmas lights for Steve to pick out features. Billy is under the blanket anyway. Steve holds his breath as he watches the lumps under the blanket shift, Billy stirring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve keeps perfectly still as the object of his affections grumbles and turns over. It’s only once Billy goes still and stays that way does Steve exhale. Slow and through his parted lips so as to not disturb the still air. When after a few breaths Billy remains asleep, Steve slips from the door and across the room to the bed. He is in luck and comes upon Billy’s back facing him. His desire to awaken Billy and keep him up evaporates as a new idea, insistent and needy, inserts itself in his brain. He would rather cuddle up to Billy, share his warmth, and then claim upset should the older man awaken. Steve needs to keep in mind what he’s actually come here to do, though. Billy has to know the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hoping swiftness is the correct choice for this, Steve lifts an edge of the comforter and slips into the bubble of warmth around Billy without hesitating. The radiating heat seeps into his knees which are about to chatter just like his teeth. Maybe he should have bent down to the vent and opened it. Months ago, he’d been the one to shut it to direct all the heat into his room alone. Steve could brain himself into the pillows for his idiocy. Make the best of it, just don’t touch Billy until the chill melts out of Steve’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t have to wait long. He’s cozy enough to relax along Billy’s back and curl up with his hands tucked under his chin. Like this, Steve’s fingers brush Billy’s naked back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, Billy must have taken off his shirt, too. Steve nearly chokes as he lies there frozen and yet about to break into a sweat. Oh Jesus, did Billy take off his underwear, too? No, that’s too amazing and terrifying to think about. But he must know otherwise he’ll go crazy. It’s the four walls of the bathroom closing in on him again. Before his poor stomach revolts, Steve drags featherlight fingertips down Billy’s back until he hits elastic. He could just pass out from relief. That would be too far, too much. Of course Steve has thought about it, but… Only vaguely with no specific details. It’s too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The temptation to count sheep to sleep—really counting the seconds he’s getting away with this—proves itself as a challenge. Steve wouldn’t have counted for long, though. Something must rouse Billy from sleep. Steve’s added weight, added warmth, maybe just the electric rush of another living creature so near. Dangerous and vulnerable. He rouses slowly while Steve feigns sleep. Poorly. He knows Billy knows he’s here when the older man’s entire body sighs on his next exhale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong, little man? Can’t sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He used to fall asleep with Billy all the time. Outside in the backyard after tiring him out. On the couch downstairs after running all over the house. Mom and Dad could never keep up with him. Not only that but… Even now, with Steve about to change everything with his confession, he feels safe with Billy. Billy would never hurt him, never put him down or snap at him. Be disappointed in him when he tries his hardest and still comes up short. So Steve doesn’t flinch when the mattress shakes with Billy’s weight rolling over to face him. Steve still keeps his eyes closed for a spell. When he opens them, he doesn’t fake like he’d woken. Billy waits for him in the cloak of darkness, expression unreadable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You… You stayed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s too dark to see Billy’s eyes, but the wetness in them flashes when he blinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, it’s coming down pretty hard out there, and your dad was worried about me driving in it. So I crashed here for the night.” The bed shifts, Billy’s weight settling differently, and it rolls Steve closer. Billy’s next puffs play with Steve’s hair. “So why are you the thing going bump in the night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t spoken to Billy for hours. And now, this brief exchange brings back all of Steve’s heartache and panic from earlier. He winds up tight as a spring about to blow as he recalls the adults and Dad teasing Billy about ‘settling down’ and getting married. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve?” A hand cups the trembling ball of his shoulder. “Come on, buddy, what’s wrong? I can’t help if you don’t tell me, I’m not mad you came in here, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy needn’t cast such a wide net to reel Steve in. Wiggling down past where he thinks Billy’s jaw is, Steve huddles closer. He seeks safety against Billy’s chest, hiding there. They’re not quite touching. He just doesn’t want Billy to look at him, even in the dark, as he falls apart like a big baby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really gonna get married, Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A confused noise squeaks out of him, and then almost with a laugh, “What? Stevie, what are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand that had cradled his shoulder moments ago returns, but this time between his shoulder blades. Steve’s heart could soar from how hard it beats, could just rip right out of its cage and fly. Billy practically holds him like this. It’s something Steve dreams about, that and more. He has to swallow a few times to get his voice to stay level and not crack all over the place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Earlier with Dad and some of my aunts and uncles. They told you to get married. Are you gonna do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy huffs a few laughs against him and shakes the bed in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your Dad was just having a laugh, don’t worry, they didn’t—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to get married!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It comes out more desperate than he intends. Steve’s hands find skin when they flinch out. They mean to tangle with a shirt that isn’t there. To cling to Billy literally and not let him go. The imagined scene from earlier that’d made Steve sick replays on loop in his mind. It doesn’t curdle his stomach this time, just makes his eyes sting something awful. He won’t cry, refuses to cry! Not so quickly, he isn’t even confessing right now! Billy’s arm sweeps around him properly, though, and the older man doesn’t hesitate at all to clutch Steve to his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie, take a breath buddy, you’re freaking out on me a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he gasps. He just winds himself tighter knowing he’s making Billy uncomfortable. “I-I’m trying. I’m sorry, Uncle Billy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sigh erupts above him, and Billy just sweeps him as tight as they can be. Like Billy doesn’t care about all the things that make this wrong. Like maybe it’s not wrong to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Stevie, it’s me!” He squeezes Steve tighter and chuckles against him some more. “Marriage and all that bullshit isn’t for me. Can you imagine me with some girl and a couple of kids? You’re kidding, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just sort of shrugs. His imagination seems capable of anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing with some frustration leaking into it, Billy reaches up to ruffle his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember what you said to me tonight? About your parents trying to control you and make you just like them? There’s a reason I didn’t try to put you down about that, kiddo. They do it to everyone who doesn’t fit in their perfect life. Your dad tried to change me when we were in college, and he’s still trying to change me now. It’s just a thing he does, and he met your mom who is basically the same person, so now they just do it like a hobby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods, and the hand in his hair pets the strands back into place. Just as quickly, though, Billy’s fingers seek out the curve of his jaw. And he can deny Billy nothing, so he comes as Billy urges him. Up out of his hiding place until they’re in each other’s faces. Steve hopes Billy doesn’t feel his heart skip a beat. How it rattles the bars on its cage as it flies into overdrive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that why you came in here? Cuz you were scared I’d come back with some girl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head after hesitating for a breath. Lying to Billy is never an option. He doesn’t want to lie to Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, but I thought about it a lot. It made my stomach hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just enough light filters in from the window so Steve can watch Billy nod. Still Billy holds his jaw so Steve can’t hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna tell you something. But you can’t tell anyone, and especially don’t repeat it in front of your dad. He will flip out, you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t need the tightening of Billy’s fingers at his jaw to convince him. He nods before Billy is even done speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A deep breath and then simply, “I don’t date women, Stevie. I’d never marry one, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t dare to hope it means what he wants it to mean. So he stutters out, “What, um, what does that mean? I don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said to me today you like a boy. Well, I like boys, too. Men. Whatever. I only like men. So you don’t gotta worry about me getting married. They don’t really allow that sort of thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stars in Steve’s eyes align. All is right in the world, and yet Steve needs to make absolutely sure for the sake of his hummingbird heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy you’re um… you’re gay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep. Always have been and always will be. Your dad doesn’t think so, thinks it was a phase when we were in college.” Billy shrugs. “So I lie about dating girls on and off like I’m bad at holding a relationship down. He just thinks I’m a serial bachelor. The stick up his ass twists a little whenever something reminds him I’m gay and he can’t change me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s next shudder has nothing to do with his sadness melting, melting, melting. He’s over the moon, singing in the rain! Uncle Billy is gay and could possibly love him back! Anything is possible now, and even though Steve knows it’s a bad idea, he sends his wishes soaring on that updraft of hope. His hands barely grazing California honey press that much closer. Billy surely feels them touching, now, and Steve pays no mind to the way muscles tense under his hands. The universe wants him to have this. Wants him to have Billy and all that implies. Would Billy hold him so tenderly at his jaw if the universe didn’t want him to have this? Steve sucks in a stuttering breath that's entirely too loud for their close quarters. Now is the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy? Can I… can I tell you something? It-it’s really important, and I wanted to tell you earlier when I told you about, um, liking a boy. I wanna tell you who it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quiet. Billy’s fingers are five points of soft pressure on Steve’s skin. And then warmly, “You can tell me anything, Stevie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His love for Billy swells hot and huge like he’ll be sick all over again. But it’s a wonderful feeling, and Steve wiggles a hand up from the furnace of Billy’s chest to find his jaw and hold it, too. A startle, a flinch bumps Billy’s firm jaw into Steve’s fingers. The universe wants him to have this and guides them together, giving Steve its blessing. His next breath trips over his lips when he licks them. He’s wanted to kiss Billy so badly and for so long, now. Is probably the only person he’s ever thought about kissing. Billy’s hand holding him doesn’t fight him when Steve cranes his head forward. Only when Steve’s shaky exhale pets over his mouth does Billy startle again. It’s too late, though. Even when their noses almost squish together, Steve makes the best of it and presses his lips so clumsy to Billy’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It lasts all of a few seconds. Those few seconds are euphoria to Steve. He doesn’t expect the prick of Billy’s moustache or how soft Billy’s lips are. Like they would be made of stone like the rest of him. Steve doesn’t even manage a whimper before Billy rears his head back, away. His fingers tighten almost cruelly at Steve’s jaw. Holding him with absolute power there. Not to be challenged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t come out as strong as it normally would. The words are barely above a whisper. Almost frantic. When Steve just lies there and breathes in Billy’s grasp, those fingers shake him a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve, what do you think you’re doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pays no mind to the urgency in Billy’s words. He just turns his head in Billy’s grip and nuzzles those thick fingers as best he can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breathless, so full of his fondness, Steve whispers, “I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s fingers tear away from him nearly in that same instance, and Steve’s world crumbles at the edges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mean that,” Billy insists. He scoots away from Steve, not quite separating them. “You don’t mean that how you think you do, Steve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Petulant, Steve whines, “I do mean it! I’ve thought about it a lot, and-and I know how I feel. Everybody’s always telling me what to do and that my feelings are silly, that I’m being silly about stuff. But you don’t, and I’m not being silly about this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches through the dark for Billy again and holds the older man still to kiss him a second time. It lasts about as long as the first with Billy ripping his mouth away with a ragged breath. At least he doesn’t push Steve away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Desperate, Steve pleads in Billy’s breathing space, “I love you so much, Uncle Billy. I have for a while, I-I had to tell you the truth. I couldn’t keep it a secret anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy does push him now and sits up. Steve scrambles to follow—no, no, please don’t do this—but just as quickly flinches away when light floods the room. Billy turns back from the lamp now glowing from the nightstand. His hair is down and loose from the red hair tie that normally folds those curls into a bun. Billy tosses his head to knock back a curl on his forehead and regards Steve with wide eyes. No anger, just surprise. Maybe some fear. He looks more tired than Steve has ever seen him. Older than his handsome face normally implies. Steve shakes his head and reaches again, again for some part of Billy. Billy snatches his hand and forces it to the comforter between them. Denying Steve what he wants but still touching him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t do that, buddy,” Billy says firmly, but not unkindly. He grits his teeth, fighting something, and then stares Steve down once more. “You can’t say those things and do… this. I believe you think you love me, but you know that can’t happen. You can’t do this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Steve tries to bite back the crack in his voice. It happens all the time, worse when he’s emotional. “I-I won’t tell anyone, please, I just, I think about you all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve cranes forward just to be closer to Billy. Billy’s other hand not flattening Steve’s to the bed flicks out to hold him at bay by a shoulder. Steve rallies against that strength and knows it's futile. He does it anyway, a wild animal caught in a trap and desperate to free itself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everybody talks down to me and treats me like I’m in the way or-or I’m stupid. You’re the only person who makes me feel good about myself and who doesn’t-who doesn’t care that I’m not super smart.” Steve presses all his strength to Billy’s hand and tries to hold back the frustration stinging his eyes. Billy just stares at him with his lips rolled flat. “Please, Uncle Billy, will you just, please give me a chance, I promise I won’t tell anyone, I don’t want to hurt you, I’d never do that, I love you so much, I—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he does. Steve’s words collide like a train derailing. His lips snap shut over a dying sound, and he holds himself still until he starts to shake. No, no, it’s not supposed to be like this. With Billy staring hard just behind Steve’s head, unseeing, as he gathers all the reasons why they shouldn’t. Like Steve hadn’t considered those truths over and over. He knows it’s wrong, knows Billy could go to jail for this. But it doesn’t matter so long as nobody knows. They can keep it a secret, and when Steve is 18, it won’t matter. He has to convince Billy before something terrible happens. Like Billy telling him to go back to his room. Or Billy leaving the house altogether to brave the snow outside. Steve’s heart would die if either of those things were to happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s mouth falls open as he readies his plea. Billy beats him to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t”—his face pinches, head turning away and his lips sealing over his words, but he powers through and tries again—“I can’t… entertain this, Steve. I can’t credit it. You’re 16, young enough to be my son. I understand how you feel. That I pay attention to you and make you feel special. I understand, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy probably wants Steve to nod in agreement, but all Steve can do is shake his head as his world falls apart a little more with each word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I care about you very much. But—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t,” Steve begs with his voice all over the place, about to cry like a pathetic child. He hates how that choking ball of emotion builds up in his throat. Makes him sound weak and needy. He hates this! “Please don’t do this, Uncle Billy. I-I mean it when I say I won’t tell anyone. I know it’s wrong, I know I shouldn’t feel this way. Don’t you think I tried not to?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t mean for the last part to come out so loud. So mournful. Because of course he’d tried to bury his feelings. The moment his heart fluttered years ago when Billy told him not to be ashamed of his body. That he was a handsome young man just the way he was. That the other boys were just mean for the sake of being mean. From that moment until he gave in, Steve tried to will his love away. But it just grew with the distance and the longing Steve could not deny. While Tommy and other boys finally turned their eyes to girls and pretty things, Steve only wanted this. His Uncle Billy and all that implies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voice thick and stricken, Steve pleads, “I tried. So hard. Not to feel this way. You think I don’t know it’s wrong? That-that I don’t know people get arrested for touching kids all the time? I know you’re not like that.” He has to stop to grit his teeth over a terrible whine that threatens to tear his voice to shreds. He has to power through it. “I know you’d never hurt me. I trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letting those words out breaks the dam on Steve’s stubborn resolve to not cry. He doesn’t make a noise when fat tears go running down his cheeks. Crying silently is his usual, unless he really gets going. Hiccups and gasps, terrible sobs that ruin his voice. He won’t do that here. He doesn’t need to make a bigger fool of himself in front of Billy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve yanks his hand out from under Billy’s to shove and scratch his tears away. They just won’t stop, though, so he throws slim fingers into his hair to pull on it. Anything to make him stop crying. He only gets a vicious tug or two, popping strands out of his scalp, before bigger, stronger hands wrap around his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Billy begs him. His voice is almost as thick as Steve’s before. “Don’t hurt yourself. Come on, look at me Stevie, please don’t fuckin’ cry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That soft plea only lifts the lid on the Pandora’s Box of Steve’s misery, though. He shakes with bottled up noises clawing their way up his throat. They throw themselves behind his locked teeth, desperate to slither between the gaps and shake the bedroom walls with his wails. Billy shushes him, tugging him forward like he hadn’t just held Steve at arm’s length. Billy bundles the poor teenager against his chest and pets over messy hair. Billy grumbles when none of that works—not good with kids—and just cups the back of Steve’s neck. And squeezes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s fingers pinch off the direct route Steve’s cries take from his broken heart to his mouth. Just like that, he calms down to sniffles and hard shivers. Billy’s strength guides Steve’s head down to his shoulder. He doesn’t want to get tears or anything on Billy. Because Billy isn’t wearing a shirt, and Steve is gross right now. Still, he can’t resist the offer of closeness and comfort. Steve’s arms wiggle between them and slip around Billy’s neck. It feels good. Right. Even as his heart breaks into pieces, Billy is still right and everything good in his world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Stevie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve flinches hard in the safe circle of Billy’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why-why are you sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sigh plays with his hair, presses their chests together, and Billy murmurs lowly, “I should have stopped this. I should have seen it coming and… done something about it. I’m not mad at you, this is my fault, you didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” Billy holds him tighter. “Do you understand? This isn’t your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Steve doesn’t understand. It’s no one’s fault. Billy hadn’t tricked him into this. Didn’t dangle sweetness or promises in front of him to lure him into this position. Billy isn’t like that. Billy would never take advantage of him like those sickos on the news. What Steve feels for Billy is pure and simple. Like all those Disney movies make it out to be. Billy is no Prince Charming, but he is charming in his own way. He’s sweet in his roughness and is loyal, protective. Steve is safe when he’s with Billy. More himself when he’s with Billy. If only he could make Billy understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing hard, Steve tips his head up to nuzzle the column of Billy’s throat. For comfort or maybe closeness. He’s seen it in movies before. The purpose is lost to Steve, why it feels good to do it. It just does. And Billy doesn’t stop him. Higher and higher, Steve sits up on his knees folded under him until the tip of his straight nose bumps the shadow of facial hair along Billy’s jaw. It’s darker than the hair on Billy’s head. Billy breathes hard just once in Steve’s ear. Like he needs the deep breath to control himself. Or steel himself for something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s lips wander in not-kisses across the heat in Billy’s cheek, under his eye. Steve doesn’t dare open his. Too afraid to see rejection on Billy’s face again. He can’t face it. So he goes on pressing his unsure lips wherever Billy allows. The corner of his mouth is maybe too much, because Billy shifts just slightly to deter Steve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” he grunts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not enough of a deterrent to stop him. Steve holds himself still just beyond the prick of facial hair. He wants, oh how he wants. He’s never wanted anything so badly, thinks maybe the first two kisses have unlocked something ravenous, something frightening inside him. Steve’s little whine of need rumbles high in his throat when he kisses Billy again. The angle is all wrong again; Steve can’t figure out how to get it right. Not that it matters, because Billy will push him away just like the last two times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hold still against each other. Steve’s arms feel right around Billy’s neck like this. He has to lean up like a girl to kiss Billy. And this feels so right, too, tilting his head up to press their lips together. Billy’s hand around his neck is just perfect, more so when thick fingers tighten in his skin. Directing him. Making the angle that much better, and Steve can’t help the fluttering whimper trapped in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They part with Billy nudging him back, pressure on Steve’s mouth and a tiny wet noise between them. It’s like when Steve is alone and thinks about Billy and lets his skin tingle and get excited. He still doesn’t understand it well. His reactions. Even the pitiful sex-ed back in eighth grade hadn’t helped. Steve just hopes his excitement isn’t obvious. It would be inappropriate right now. They’re on the razor’s edge of something. Steve’s heart hammering in his throat tells him so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voice thin and desperate, Billy pleads on his last leg, “Steve we… we can’t do this.” Both hands slip up and around to hold his pink cheeks, thumbs petting dry tear tracks. “I’m old enough to be your father. And you know I care so much about you, buddy, you mean so much to me. I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is the one to look away, to turn his head and grit his teeth through a scowl. Opportunity knocking, Steve shuffles that much closer. He reels Billy back in with hands sliding down to grip the shelf of his shoulders. Steve meets hard sapphires pointed straight at him. They warn him not to. To stay away, to not do this. Steve closes his eyes to that warning and tilts his head like before for another kiss. Billy’s hands cradling his cheeks don’t stop him. They hold him tenderly like always. Like Steve is something special. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pressure on his mouth as Billy kisses him back. It sends his heart soaring again, coaxes an eager noise out of him. Steve has only ever kissed one other person before. A girl at the bus stop when no one else was around. She tried to shove her tongue in his mouth, made fun of him when he jumped away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. She was mean about it, but now Steve wonders what that would be like. If Billy would let him. The next time lips smooth over his, knowing how to lead Steve in this dance, the tip of his tongue sneaks out to swipe the seam of Billy’s lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That knocks a deep sigh out of Billy’s nose. And almost a noise, because it tingles where they’re connected. So Steve does it again with his hands tight where they cling to Billy’s skin. His loose hair brushes over the bones in Steve’s hands, tickling. Wiggling on his knees, Steve laps again and again at Billy. Just soft kitten licks, ready for Billy to push him away and tell him no. The hands cupping his face twitch. Steve almost stops, ready for Billy to end this again. One hand lingers at Steve’s jaw while the other sweeps around to thread fingers in his thick hair. Once Billy has him like that, the world halts for one second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heart hammering. Climbing into his throat. Pulsing at his lips. And then Billy’s tongue licks him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wet slide of their mouths is so new and shocking it rips a whine right out of Steve. He hates how needy it sounds. But the softest rumble from Billy is his reply, so Steve bobs his head as best he can as he follows along. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, just clings to Billy’s shoulders for all he’s worth. Forgetting to breathe, Steve separates them with just enough space to pant. Billy goes right on holding him and laving his tongue over Steve’s bottom lip. He pauses at that point, too, not even a little out of breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is grateful his eyes are closed when Billy murmurs against his buzzing lips, “Open your mouth, Stevie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Racing heart flipping inside him, Steve obeys without a second of hesitation. All at once he’s sure he looks so uncool, that his mouth hangs open like some slack-jawed idiot. But the plushness of Billy’s lips blanket his again, moustache tickling him just like before, and his warm tongue slips through the gap in Steve’s lips. Gliding wet back and forth as Billy dives into him over and over again. It sends a bolt down from the heavens to strike Steve right behind his navel. That’s never happened before, and Steve jumps in Billy’s hands. A groan, a real one, shakes through their kiss. And then the world goes topsy turvy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s strength is absolute when he guides Steve down, down, down to the bed. Never stops kissing him, never falters where he licks Steve’s lips wider apart and then pets over Steve’s tongue. Coaxing and encouraging Steve to play along. To bob his head and draw his tongue against Billy’s. They groan as one—Billy’s almost a purr and Steve’s fluttering—when Steve builds up the courage to do it. Steve has nowhere to go with his back and head sinking into the comforter. Billy is warm above him, caging him in but hardly touching him. Except the fingers of his left hand petting along Steve’s jaw, slipping down to cup the side of his throat. Every noise and sigh of Steve’s is for Billy, and he hopes thick fingers feel every whine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They separate with a particularly loud whine from Steve. It spills into the air around them when their lips part—not that Steve doesn’t dart his head up to chase Billy’s retreat. Steve’s hands flat in the comforter help push him up, close to Billy. Billy just hums at him and denies him but considers him with a curious stare. The hand at Steve’s jaw curls up. Rough knuckles pet the color just under his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anybody ever tell you that you look exactly like your dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just blinks up at Billy, lamp casting him in a soft, yellow halo. He’s beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… yea, a lot of people say that. That I look like my dad with Mom’s hair… Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve perks up when Billy sweeps back down, nudges their mouths together for a few bobs. Nothing like the kisses just now. This is something soft and meaningful. Even when Billy pulls back, Steve shivers under him and directs big, loopy eyes at him. Breathless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re pretty like him. That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one has ever called him that before. Pretty. Heat rushes into Steve’s face and paints his cheeks pink, he knows it, but he can’t find enough shame to care. Not even when Billy guides him back to the bed and holds him there with gentle fingers in his hair. On reflex, out of charged hormones that control him more than the other way around, doe eyes zip right down to the V of Billy’s legs. The front of his boxers are too ruffled to tell if he’s hard. Steve wishes he could say the same for the tent in his pajamas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now shame rears its ugly head, and his legs curl up to hide himself. Billy isn’t even looking there, but Steve has to make sure Billy doesn’t see. It’s embarrassing in a way that makes him slam his eyes shut and turn away. Cowering for the first time under Billy’s attention. The fingers in his hair slip out only to pet the little wave of bangs he’s growing out over his right eye. He has terrible cowlicks right at his hairline, so it’s either this or keep his hair military short. Billy’s fingers card that wave back again and again as it flips forward, rebellious. That helps drain the swamp of Steve’s shame. His legs lower slowly to the bed. And now blue eyes glance down lightning fast to take in the needy state of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoulders hunching, Steve mumbles, “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shakes his head, murmurs right back, “Don’t be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve tosses shy glances up the length of Billy’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we have to stop? I liked what we were doing. It felt good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips are so numb he’s surprised he can talk at all. His whole mouth is strange and foreign to him now, and Steve can’t help but lick his lips where Billy’s tongue had been. That felt best of all. The gentle, wet glide of Billy licking into him, and when their tongues would touch…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mouth screwing up, Steve slaps his hands over his face and squirms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy abandons Steve’s hair only to tug on a wrist. Steve slips that hand down just enough so he can look up at Billy and his thoughtful frown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrugging helplessly, Steve whines, “Cuz I said something weird, and I started thinking about you again, and-and I wanna kiss you again. Do we have to stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should.” Billy looks down and away. His lips barely move when he adds, “You should go back to sleep. It’s late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the flimsiest excuse. Steve’s obstinance rallies in his head, but he bites it all back. Maybe if he does as Billy says, Billy will let him stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna make me go back to my room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is it. If Billy tells him to march back down the hall, then it’s over. Billy will probably avoid coming to Indiana. Won’t show up for Christmas, won’t hug him or touch him anymore. Just the thought has Steve burying his face back in his hands. He’ll be alone for real, then. He won’t even have the private joy of knowing Billy, gorgeous and suave and gentle, cares about a little baby like him. Because Billy won’t like him anymore if it all ends here. It’s just as Steve had feared. That now he told Billy the truth, Billy won’t like him anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I let you stay, will you actually go to sleep?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy says it with his normal inflection. Sort of bored and sarcastic. Steve peeks between a gap in his fingers. Billy’s expression is carefully blank. Steve wishes he were lying here without all this heat in his face and the lingering tightness between his legs. He’s already soft again, but he still aches a little. Like when he rubs himself on a pillow, panting Billy’s name, but can’t quite get himself there. Can’t get himself to that edge where he shakes and bucks into the pillow and then curls around it to bury his shy noises during the aftershocks. He wants to tell Billy all that, too. Wants to show him even though the thought of Billy watching him fumble through masturbating makes him flush all the hotter. He wants that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Face turning a bit stern as Steve squirms and just blinks up at him, Billy begins to warn, “No funny business if you stay, you hear? You’re gonna—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be good,” Steve blurts behind his hands. When Billy stares hard at him, Steve goes back to hiding. “I-I will, I promise. I’ll go to sleep. Please just let me stay. You’re gonna go home later and I’m not gonna see you for another year and…” Steve forces his hands down to shoot big eyes up at Billy. “And I miss you a lot when you go. I hate it when you go. Please let me stay, Uncle Billy. Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wishes he had the courage to tell Billy just how much he hates being alone after a rare visit. About the melancholy and how he drowns in longing while his parents just label him as being dramatic and a hormonal teenager. And maybe he is, but it’s just how he feels. He doesn’t have enough body to contain his emotions, and his parents don’t understand when they leak all over the place like an oil slick. Steve’s plea must be enough for Billy to understand, because he sighs and reaches for Steve without a word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s weight is nothing as Billy scoops him under his arms and drags the teenager back to the pillows and headboard. The bed matches Steve’s exactly, down to the sheets and pillowcases. It reminds Steve that Billy had used </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> pillow to lean against while in his room. Heat flushes Steve’s cheeks all over again, and he hides his face in the pillow under him. Billy settles down heavy and warm next to him, shifting away only to kill the light and plunge them into darkness. Neither of them make a twitch on the bed. Only their breathing shifts the comforter over them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve squirms closer, reaches out a hand to find Billy under the covers. He grazes over soft arm hair and then finds Billy’s wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you…” Steve gives a gentle tug to Billy’s wrist. “Can we… ?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We shouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve deflates instantly and goes about just tucking himself to Billy’s right side. Billy is flat on his back under the covers. Tense as Steve shifts to get comfortable with his hands curled under his chin. He just wants Billy to put an arm around him. For Billy to hug him to his chest and let him fall asleep like that. They’ll probably lose each other as they dream, but until then…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A heavy sigh spears through the darkness. Billy rolls towards him, shifting the whole bed with his bulk hopping around, and he snatches Steve up. Steve almost giggles as Billy manhandles him around to face away. Steve swallows that almost-giggle though and has to fight a new noise as Billy presses out all the space between them. Sure, Steve still has his pajamas on. So they’re not skin to skin like he’s dreamed. But Billy is firm and real behind him, broiling despite the chill in here when he yanks the comforter back over them. Steve holds still a moment more, allowing them each a breath, and then he covers Billy’s hand tucked around his waist. His hand is almost the same size as Billy’s already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to sleep like you said you would,” Billy grumbles into his hair. Each breath puffs humidity deeper into the strands. “If I steal the blanket, just wake me up. You won’t be able to take it back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve snorts on his side and wiggles backwards, into Billy’s warmth. It’s his best attempt at cuddling like he wants. This is nice, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rubbing his cheek into the pillow, Steve closes his eyes to the dark bedroom and sighs, “I love you, Uncle Billy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy doesn’t immediately take off the next day. It’s Christmas all over again for Steve as he and Billy eat breakfast—that Billy had cooked—while Robert and Theresa bustle around the house. Something about meeting friends who couldn’t make it last night at the country club a little ways outside Hawkins. Despite the snow. They have the nerve to ask Billy to keep Steve company. Like Steve isn’t used to being alone. He can’t feel too insulted when Billy shrugs and agrees. Mentions he’s going to find a hotel room for the weekend. Dad tries to insist Billy just stay here, but Billy deflects that offer. All while avoiding Steve’s hopeful stare from under his bangs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Mom and Dad say their goodbyes and leave the house in a cloud of manufactured scents and talks of brunch, champagne, Steve gives up the ghost. He scoots back in his chair the moment he hears the car driving away, is around the table before Billy even opens his mouth, and slips his arms around the older man’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re staying!” He crows into Billy’s shoulder. The shirt Billy had worn yesterday stretches across his chest, the top button undone again. “I can’t believe it, you’re actually staying, thank you, thank you, thank you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy huffs into his hair and then… nudges him away. Not unkindly but with a firm hand that won’t be denied. Steve clasps Billy’s wrist in both hands. A silent refusal to be dismissed entirely. With Billy sitting and Steve standing, Steve doesn’t have to look up. He doesn’t like that, nervous about actually having to angle his gaze down some. Before he can stop himself, he sinks to his knees to the kitchen floor and sort of huddles against the side of the chair. Steve rests his head on Billy’s thigh despite Billy’s wild flinch when he does it. Steve’s hands wrap tightly around the rungs of the chair to anchor himself to it. To Billy. Billy can’t push him away like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve,” he sighs this time. “What are you doing, buddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna pretend like last night didn’t happen?” He doesn’t angle a pout to Billy’s hip. He doesn’t! “Like I didn’t tell you the truth?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence and stillness. So much that Steve’s stomach turns stormy with the pancakes he’d shoved in his mouth. The tang of butter and sweetness of syrup linger in the air. Heart sort of crumbling all over again like last night, Steve rubs his cheek into the denim of Billy’s jeans. A hand heavy in his hair stops him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another sigh and then Billy says softly, “No. That’s actually why I’m staying a little longer. We should… talk about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s head rockets up from Billy’s thigh despite his paw of a hand in brown locks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talk about it? Like you mean… talk about us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Girls have said that to him before. Have left him cryptic notes in his locker. ‘Meet me behind school after last bell.’ ‘We need to talk.’ ‘Do you wanna be my boyfriend?’ And his heart has never sped up and tightened in his chest during those times. Now, he leaps back to his feet and throws himself at Billy again. Steve almost sends the chair rocking on two feet, but Billy slaps a hand to the kitchen table to stop them. Steve clings to Billy’s neck again and cuddles all the closer when one of Billy’s hands settles in the small of his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” he gets out fast before Billy says anything. “I love you so much, Uncle Billy. Can we be together? Please? I don’t like anybody else like this, I just wanna be with you, please say yes? Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna reiterate what I said last night,” Billy grumbles. “We’re old enough to be father and son. Literally, that’s not an exaggeration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just squeezes him tighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care about that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should.” Billy’s hand tightens in the back of Steve’s pajamas. “You should care, because there’s, again, literally nothing right about what we’re doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs and leans his head on Steve’s shoulder. Steve does him one better and rests his cheek on Billy’s head. His curls are a little flat from sleep. Hopefully Billy has brought a bag of stuff with him. Clothes and toiletries. If he’s going to stay a few days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the hollows in Steve’s throat, Billy’s voice comes deep and regretful, “I shouldn’t have done that. I should have sent you back to your—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, come on, don’t say that, please—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More firmly, Billy steamrolls over Steve’s interruption with, “I should have sent you back to your room. I fucked up by letting you stay.” A sigh, and his head grows heavier on Steve’s shoulder. “I shouldn’t have kissed you either. If I wasn’t going to Hell before, I’m definitely gonna be fast tracked straight there. First class ticket probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I wanted you to,” Steve pleads. There has to be something he can say to convince Billy this isn’t a bad thing. Sure it’s wrong; Steve has known that from the start. But it doesn’t have to be bad. They can be good to each other. They already love each other, and love isn’t bad. “I wanted you to kiss me so bad, Uncle Billy. And-and I kissed you first, so if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy points out, bored inflection a comforting norm, “I’m the adult here, Stevie. You can’t consent to stuff like that, you don’t know what you’re doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know exactly what I’m doing!” Steve nudges his cheek into Billy’s head, annoyed. “I’ve known about kissing and sex for a long time. And when I first thought about any of that stuff, I thought about you. I’ve never thought about anyone else. Not dumb girls, not my friends, not even Tommy. I only wanna kiss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know how I feel about a sixteen year old thinking about me and sex…” Billy mumbles, maybe meaning it only for himself to hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heat rises in Steve’s face. He could save himself some embarrassment and just keep hiding in Billy’s hair. Tommy likes to tease him about how easily people rile him up and turn his face pink. But the urge to prove himself to Billy, that they can be together, overrules his shame. Steve pulls back but not to separate them. He bends down and urges Billy’s head up with careful fingers at his jaw. Billy doesn’t fight him, doesn’t murmur for him to stop, doesn’t pull his head out of Steve’s grasp. Steve’s insides flip, but he has to play it cool. Be suave about it, like Billy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s seen this in movies Mom watches. Old black and white things with no background music. Just mumbled voices and silent soundtrack popping sometimes from age. Women with deeper voices and coy glances to the men they want. Steve tries for that now, tries to soften his expression without seeing it as he blinks down at Billy. When he thinks it’s worked, he bows slowly for a kiss. Billy has all the time in the world to deny him and not tilt his jaw in Steve’s fingers to meet him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand in the small of Steve’s back slides up, up, up to the nape of his neck. Billy turns in the chair until his legs are free. That welcomes Steve to shuffle between them to meet lips tilted up for him. Thick fingers in his neck guide him slowly down and coax him into the correct angle. Steve lets loose a tiny noise, a curl of a whine in the back of his throat, when their lips slide and press together. He doesn’t hesitate to try for more, to lick through the dryness of his own lips and seek the sweetness lingering on Billy’s. Billy tastes like syrup and pancakes when he opens his mouth to seek the slight gap between Steve’s lips. Steve shudders and opens for him just like last night. His skin comes alive all over again. The whine he gives Billy in return for a quiet moan against him is sweeter than the syrup on their tongues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve breaks away when he forgets to breathe again. The art of Billy balancing their kisses while breathing through his nose is unknown to Steve. He hopes he gets the hang of it the longer they do this. If Billy keeps letting him and keeps kissing back. Steve shivers and pines for the day Billy kisses him first. Right now, though, Billy watches him with an eyebrow cocked. Not quite scolding, but Steve feels it coming anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me ‘we shouldn’t,’” he says with a roll of his eyes. “I know that’s bullshit. You wouldn’t keep kissing me back if you believed that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language,” Billy says pointedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s face screws up into something mocking, and both of Billy’s eyebrows flick up at him. Cheeky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you know I’m right. You say you shouldn’t have kissed me back, but if you regret it so much, like what? Why did you do it, then? You’re the adult, so you say, so why don’t you just tell on me to my parents? That’s the only way I’m gonna stop. I’m not gonna stop wanting to be with you. You can’t make me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lips rolled into a flat line, Billy exhales through flared nostrils. He shakes his head to disperse the rising tension in him. Steve reads it in the tightness of Billy’s jaw, how color sort of sinks into the center of his face. It only does that when he’s actually annoyed. That cows some of Steve’s bratty bravado. He shuffles closer in the splay of Billy’s knees and goes back to hugging him. He hadn’t meant to actually annoy Billy. Billy is just being difficult about this. Surely he sees how much they want each other. They could be happy and good together if Billy would just give it a chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sigh puffs against Steve’s throat where he’s tucked Billy’s head, and then the older man grumbles, “I’ve created a monster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nuh-uh. I was a monster when you met me. You hated coming over here when I was little. Don’t think I forgot how awkward you were when I asked you to play with me outside or in the pool. I know you hate kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve smiles and hugs Billy tighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So see? You’re not a bad person for kissing me. You don’t care about how old I am, you’re not one of those creepy guys who wants to fuck kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Language, Stevie, I mean it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Steve sighs with a groan, not truly meaning it. “But you know I know it’s wrong. I’ve thought about it a lot. Like you could go to jail, I could ruin your life by doing this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s arms around him flinch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But! I never want that to happen. I promise I’ll never tell anyone, Uncle Billy. I….” Steve hides his face in Billy’s pulled-back hair. He smells like whatever shampoo he uses. Steve wishes he knew what it was so he could ask Mom to buy it. So he can smell like Billy, too. “I would rather never see you again than get you in trouble. Honest. That’s how much I wanna be with you, Uncle Billy. That’s how much I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t be any more honest than that. He can’t be any more earnest in his desires than that. Normally Steve wouldn’t care so much. It’s easier to not care, because then his feelings don’t get hurt when things turn out for the worse. Like his parents forgetting his birthday or not coming home from Chicago like they said they would. It still hurts, but at least he’s not surprised. But he wants this so badly, doesn’t know what he’ll do if Billy says no. It’s not an outcome he allows himself to dwell on for long. It makes his chest hurt like someone is trying to carve out his insides with a spoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His insides are a mess even now as Billy takes him by the hips and nudges him back. On reflex, Steve’s arms tighten, refusing to separate. But his stomach takes a tumble when Billy rubs his cheek over his shoulder. It’s a confusing mix of signals, and Steve is curious—if not dreading—where this is going. So he relents with his thin arms around Billy and allows the older man to push him back. Not away, just a shuffling step backwards to create some space between them. Maneuvering space so that Billy can take him by the jaw, tilt his head, and then lean forward to take his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve startles in those big hands but has nowhere to go with Billy’s body firm in front and arm sure around him. The cotton of Billy’s shirt bunches under Steve’s hands as he grips the wide shelf of those shoulders for dear life. This kiss is louder and wetter than the others, Steve’s mouth entirely too full and yet he can’t get enough. Billy controlling him and holding him still just make it that much better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just new sensation after new sensation with Billy. First that white-hot kick in his belly last night when they’d opened their mouths to each other. Now Steve’s hip almost aches from how Billy holds him with just one hand. His thumb rolls over Steve’s pajamas, searching for bone under cloth and skin. Steve jumps as he lights up under that touch, and his whine spills into the room when Billy ends their kiss. He denies Steve stealing another with a firm grip on the teenager’s chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s next exhale is a strained thing, and then he murmurs with his voice dragged over coals, “I don’t want that. I don’t want to do that to you.” Billy’s fingers slide up Steve’s jaw until he cups a warm cheek. Steve immediately leans into it until he fills the hollow of Billy’s palm. “I don’t know how to feel about this. I should feel disgusted with myself and stop this. I shouldn’t want this. You.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s heart leaps into his throat when the rough pad of Billy’s thumb pets over his bottom lip. That’s new, too, and Steve’s stuttering exhale blows over the back of Billy’s hand. Down the length of that arm, Steve watches Billy’s body hair stand up on end. It’s encouraging, and Steve stares somewhere near Billy’s thin lips when he kisses the thumb still toying with him. He’s acting on instinct, now, just trying to appease the hesitation still sewn into Billy’s every word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last ditch effort to push Billy over the edge, even if he is hesitant, Steve whispers against his skin, “I love you. I want you to want me, please, I know you won’t hurt me. Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t… promise anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a minor blow, but Steve’s heart doesn’t sink entirely. That’s not a rejection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding in Billy’s palm, Steve holds on to his wrist with both hands and asks all shy, “Can we keep kissing? I like that. I um… it feels good. I like it when you kiss me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he wants more. So, so much more. Everything and things he doesn’t even understand. Tommy has shown him a magazine or two—pilfered from his older brother. Mostly naked women, nothing Steve hasn’t seen before. Boring almost. But Tommy’s brother is a curious one and has magazines of men, too. And Steve isn’t an idiot, it doesn’t take much to figure out how two men fuck like a man and a woman would. Well, close enough anyway. Naked women are interesting to look at, but it’s the other magazine that haunted Steve days after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just night after night of him tossing and thinking about it. Of climbing on top of his pillow with his hands shoved in his boxers and just touching himself. He can’t help that a lot of the men shown vulnerable and bare sort of look like him. Fair skinned and thin. Pretty and handsome in his soft way. Not something coaxed from stone like Billy. So he can’t help but imagine himself in the position of those fair men. Staring with huge eyes at a hulking man on top of him. Or his wrists held above his head while a man reaches between his legs, Steve helpless to stop them. It’s not fear that spears through him those nights but ravishing hunger and need. He hadn’t thought he could push himself so hard and tumble with the rush of coming more than once. He wants that and more with Billy. Everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Face pinched as Steve watches him with his bottom lip out, Billy eventually sighs. Resigned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. We need to establish boundaries though. I think I’ll lose my mind otherwise.” Billy pauses when a hopeless huff of laughter rips out of him. He is stricken and so reluctant, shakes his head as he looks away from Steve for a moment. And yet he goes right on holding the teenager. “What the fuck am I doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hand at Steve’s hip tightens. Afraid and angry, his fingers tremble where they struggle not to hurt Steve. Always gentle even when he looks like he could punch something. Probably himself. Steve bites his lower lip, desperate to help, and bows his head to kiss the angry red in Billy’s turned cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I promise I’ll say something if I get uncomfortable. Or if I want us to stop. I trust you, Uncle Billy, I know you won’t hurt me. You love me, I know you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy just gnashes his teeth harder. Almost a snarl. He leans forward to slap his forehead to Steve’s shoulder. It stings, bone on bone, but Steve doesn’t say anything. He does squeak, though, when Billy’s arms sweep him up. He crushes the teenager to him and struggles with himself. Nerves and terror cannot win this day, though. Steve refuses to allow that, so he plucks the hair tie out of Billy’s curls and then cards his fingers through them. That touch alone unlocks something in Billy. He sags a little into Steve’s chest, and Steve stumbles to take his weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna fuck you up over this, Stevie,” Billy says mournfully. “You’re gonna look back on this one day and hate me. Or yourself. I just know it.” The heavy head on Steve’s shoulder turns, and Billy’s strained exhale tickles his neck. “I don’t want you to turn out like one of those molested kids who’s fucked in the head forever. I don’t wanna do that to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t.” Steve slips his arms around Billy as best he can and just holds on. “You won’t. You aren’t making me do anything, I-I want you so bad. I promise you didn’t make me feel this way. I love you all on my own.” Eyes shut tight as they sting, Steve turns his head to kiss hair the color of wet sand. “Will you tell me, though? That you love me? Even if you don’t, like, mean it the way I do. Please tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time since Steve had snuck into Billy’s bed last night, the older man doesn’t hesitate. It sends Steve’s heart soaring all over again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Stevie. Very much, you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve hums and presses kisses to soft hair and whatever of Billy he can reach. It isn’t long before Billy picks his head up from that small hiding place to snatch Steve’s lips in real kisses. A little harsh, a little rough with the pressure of their mouths sliding wide together and Steve whining around their tongues. Maybe the roughness should scare him, but it just sends everything behind his navel to tighten with anticipation. Like when he’s decided he’s going to masturbate but hasn’t sat up and gotten started yet. Maybe… maybe eventually Billy will touch him. He can only hope. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y'all ready for some phone sex? Hopefully it's as awkward as it is hot lol.</p><p>Thanks for the rather... astounding response this story has gotten so far. When I start it, I wasn't going to publish it. But then I thought "fuck it" and published it anyway. Mostly to stick it to antis lol. Anyway, please continue to comment. It's nice.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>No one is home when Steve unlocks the front door. It’s April 13th. Friday the 13th. His birthday. So he’s expecting the worst when the door flies open and he hears the phone ring. Probably his parents calling to apologize for forgetting. Again. And Billy couldn’t fly out this weekend. So he’ll be alone until Tommy comes over tomorrow afternoon to hang out with him. It’s still too cold to swim. They’ll probably hoof it to the arcade where Tommy will trounce him in everything except pinball and air hockey. He’s sort of looking forward to it. Anything to get his mind off how much he misses Billy and wishes they could see each other. Phone calls—ones his parents don’t know about—aren’t enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Steve races and stumbles for the phone, he can’t help recall Billy trying to use distance and lack of contact as a reason why they shouldn’t do this. Spending the day after Christmas around town with Billy and then later in the motel room he’d rented was a day full of talking. Mostly Billy still trying to convince Steve to reconsider. No mention of Billy resisting the gravitational pull between them, though. Steve took that to heart to mean Billy wanted him, just didn’t want to want him. But they’re still doing this months later. Steve calls whenever he can’t take the loneliness anymore and hopes not to get Billy’s answering machine. The time difference doesn’t help. Billy has a job after all. A life. Steve sighs, so full of love and missing Billy, and answers thinking it's Mom calling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Mom, I saw your note about money for pizza, I’m gonna eat, don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m glad to hear you’re eating well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the sarcastic drawl of the one person who can make his birthday worth something. Steve almost drops the phone in his excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit, you never call me! Are-are you okay? Did something happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t call my only nephew to wish him a happy birthday?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s still something they haven’t shaken yet. Billy still refers to him as a nephew sometimes. And Steve still calls him ‘Uncle Billy.’ Steve had thought that would be the first thing to change, what with Billy so caught up over their age difference. The implication of being related should send him over the edge, right? Not so. Billy is more concerned about getting caught on the phone than that. Which is why Steve is the one to call. And only when he’s home alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve drags his unsteady legs to a stool and hops up at the breakfast bar. The empty house doesn’t heave like a tomb when Billy’s voice is in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know that’s not what I meant,” Steve sasses back with plenty of eye rolling and head waggling. “You’d probably only risk a call if something bad happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not this time. How was school? How’s your birthday so far?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs even though no one is around to see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boring, I guess? It’s not like when I was in grade school and everybody knew when everybody’s birthday was. So like Tommy and Carol knew, but not really anyone else. Tommy is coming over tomorrow, we’re gonna hang out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause. The static buzzes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your parents aren’t there. Are they.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a question, and Steve shivers at the irritated edge in Billy’s voice. Not at him, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they’re not,” he sighs, defeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Billy hums, “then it’s still a surprise. Not that I’m happy about them leaving you alone on your birthday…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve perks right up and blurts, “What? What’s a surprise? What are you hiding?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, nothing. I should probably wait until they tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve hops on the barstool, bottom lip sticking out a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what? What are you talking about?” He hops some more, scooting the stool on the tiles below him. Whining loudly because he knows it grates on Billy’s nerves, “Uncle Billy! Tell me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, stop! You’re gonna blow my ears out with that crap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps it right up though with, “Tell me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool it, kiddo, or I’m not saying shit. And stop it with the pouting, I can tell you’re sticking your lip out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever,” Steve grumbles. “Am not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh. Anyway… I thought about sending you something for your birthday, but decided against it. Because while I was wandering around, looking for that something, a better idea came to mind. And your parents already said yes, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About to explode, Steve chews on his lip. It takes everything in him to stop his voice from cracking when he pleads, “What? Come on, just tell me already, you’re driving me crazy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to camp this summer. You’re coming here to stay with me for two weeks instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must be a dream. Or he’s imagining. He hasn’t seen Billy since Christmas, isn’t due for another visit until the older man finds time. Even Christmas isn’t a guarantee—Steve’s worst fear. So he says nothing with his jaw hanging in the air as he combs over the words, searching for some lie or some prank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… Stevie? You there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That shocks a breath back into him, back to life, and Steve breathes, “Y-yea, yes, yes I’m here. You’re not um you’re not fuckin with me, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A grumble over Steve’s language and then once Billy composes himself, gently, “No tricks, no lies. We don’t lie to each other, isn’t that right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head but remembers himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No lies.” His voice is barely more steady than the coo of a dove. Steve’s free hand grips tightly to the smooth granite of the breakfast bar. “Uncle Billy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You’d rather go to some boring camp in the middle of nowhere than come hang out with me on the beach?” Billy sucks his teeth, entirely too playful now. “Well okay, guess your dad doesn’t need to buy that plane ticket…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no!” Steve crows loud enough to send his voice bouncing around the empty house. “Shut up! There’s no way I’m going to some shitty camp. Are you serious right now? My parents said yes?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The granite his short nails scramble over doesn’t hit right. That hand tears itself away from the smooth surface to thread shaking fingers into his hair. It hurts at his scalp when he tugs, but he needs something to spear through the pure, soaring elation about to make him take off like a rocket. The only way Billy could possibly make him happier right now is if he were to walk through the front door. That won’t happen, but Steve wishes it would. He has no outlet for all this energy racing under his skin. The excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It took a lot of convincing. Your parents only agreed with the expectation that I show you around a college campus or two. You dad is hellbent on you going to our alma mater San Diego State. They want you to be worldly or some bullshit.” Billy’s voice grows distant, and someone else mumbles something. Not clear enough to hear. Clear enough that Steve knows Billy isn’t alone. “Sorry, anyway, I was just gonna say I was born here, never left, and I’ll probably die here. So screw being ‘worldly.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods hard with the phone pressed as tightly to his ear as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… is someone with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m at my shop on the boardwalk, yea. I’ve got help today, which is why I could call you right now. You wanna help me run this place while you’re here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Steve practically gasps. “Hell yea I wanna help. Are you gonna teach me to surf?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the waves aren’t too big. Sort of depends on the weather while you’re here, really. But yea, I can try. I’m not great at teaching people stuff so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine, I don’t care! I just wanna be there right now!” Steve angles his head up to the ceiling. “Why does July have to be so far away?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two months isn’t that long,” Billy teases. Steve can practically see his toothy grin. “It’ll fly by with you still in school, trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doubts it. From now until the moment he runs at Billy in the airport and probably jumps into his arms, he’ll be counting the days down. He’ll lie awake at night, staring at his popcorn ceiling, and imagine what Billy’s ceiling looks like. If his bed is firm or soft. If he can smell the ocean while lying in that bed, Billy warm and alive and so close. Finally close again like Steve wants so badly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… Uncle Billy? Can I ask you something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voice going high and threatening to crack, Steve can’t hide his embarrassment over what he’s about to ask. But he has to know. Billy had stressed boundaries when they spent the evening in his motel room back around Christmas. Mostly after Steve climbed into his lap to kiss him and Billy quickly scooped him up to dethrone him. It didn’t result in a scolding. Just Billy telling him firmly that Steve needs to ask for permission for things like that. That Billy still isn’t comfortable with this whole affair. But it wasn’t a rejection. So Steve readies himself to play by Billy’s rules. He has to ask now or the unknown, the possibility of rejection in the heat of the moment, will drive him crazy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teeth rubbing over his bottom lip and with his shoulders hunched, Steve blurts out, “I wanna fool around while I’m there.” A heavy pause on the line as Steve’s face screws up, annoyed with himself for being a baby. “You know. Have sex with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They haven’t discussed this. The day after Christmas, in the motel, of course Steve wanted to broach the subject. He’s a teenager for crying out loud. When he’s not worried about some bullshit at school, his animal brain is on a constant loop of arousal. Usually mild, not enough to embarrass him in class and make him hard for literally nothing. But when they were alone together for those precious hours… Steve thought he was going to lose it and make a fool of himself. Come in his shorts with just a glance from Billy. Just a smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But to touch on the subject at the time hadn’t been a good idea. Not with it so new. Not with Billy so reluctant to agree over breakfast. Especially not after Billy swiftly denied Steve climbing into his lap. And Jesus how badly Steve wanted Billy to let him do that. For the split second when he straddled Billy’s splayed thighs on the bed… Steve grips the phone in his hand so tightly the plastic squeaks. Jesus, that felt amazing. Leagues better than straddling his stupid pillow that always collapses under his grinding. Oh, if only Billy would have let him stay so he could rub himself on one of those powerful thighs…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you listening, Stevie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve draws in a loud breath, face flushing immediately, and he gasps, “No, sorry, I was—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Billy says lowly. “I said I can’t talk about that right now. I’m in the shop, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but please, will you at least tell me yes or no? I want to so bad, but I know you’re still weird about it. But I promise I want you to touch me and-and I wanna touch you, too. Will you at least think about it? Please, Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to beg and plead, promise he’ll behave and do whatever Billy wants. But that sort of enthusiasm usually runs Billy off or makes him stop. That or maybe he’s into it but struggles with that desire. Like he’d said the morning after, that he shouldn’t want Steve. Implying that he does, Steve knows he does, will not be convinced otherwise. Steve would feel some shame over throwing himself at Billy like this—maybe he should have some morals over this like Billy does. But he knows what he wants and isn’t going to let a little thing like his age stop him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s sigh resists and thrashes against his desire. Against Steve’s that is so blatant and honest. Earnest. Steve shivers at the rasp in Billy’s voice when he sighs yet again. He wants to know what Billy sounds like in bed. If he’s loud—Steve bets he is—or if he’s just as restrained as he is right now. Does Billy moan with the roughest gravel in his voice or does he go high? What does he look like when he comes? Perched on the barstool and squirming, Steve slaps his free hand to the V of his legs. He digs the heel of his palm against the hardness he finds there. His tight jeans make it obvious. They’re in fashion, apparently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he’s breathing hard and loud into the phone. Oops. Steve’s face flushes all the hotter when he mumbles, “Yea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pause. The bustle of the shop—a tourist trap of a place, all plank interior like the boardwalk and full of souvenirs; Steve has seen pictures—is strong in the background. And then it’s not, a door clicking shut muffling the noises. Billy must have a cordless phone. Steve wishes he’d sprung for the cordless instead of the one hanging on the wall in the kitchen. That way he could maybe stretch the signal up to his room, splay out naked in bed, and pretend Billy is here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You went quiet. What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No lies between them. That’s the rule. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking about you,” he sighs with a shiver. “Cuz I wanna have sex with you so bad, and I think about it a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t expect Billy to entertain this. Whatever this is with Steve sort of rocking his ass on the barstool, grinding his hand down at the same time. He knows he’s still breathing too loud in Billy’s ear. It’s probably obvious that he’s aroused. He can’t help it, though. He’s alive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How badly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve almost slides right off the stool. He saves it with his sneaker catching on the wood paneling of the breakfast bar. Is Billy really… ?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m in the back office of the shop,” Billy explains like that’s all Steve needs to know. His voice is low, barely words. “I don’t have long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That purr bordering on a growl has Steve blotting a wet spot in the front of his underwear. Teeth tight in his bottom lip, he scrambles at the button and zip of his jeans. He barely gets them open before shoving his hand into the opening and under the elastic. The first graze of his fingers, cold from adrenaline and excitement, tears a gasp out of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy,” he breathes, desperate and aching between his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me how badly, Stevie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is a side of Billy he doesn’t know. Maybe Billy talks this way to men he fucks. Steve hopes so, would love for Billy to hold him down and murmur all sorts of nonsense in his ear. Steve braces his shoe fully on the breakfast bar and tugs his cock free. He’s rather proud of it. Freshman year in gym had been a breeze. As well every year after that, since he’s certainly not getting any smaller in this particular area. Steve bites back a whine while holding himself losely and thumbing moisture from his slit. He wants to know what Billy looks like. If he’s cut, how fat his head is, if he’s a grower or a shower… He wants a lot more than just to look, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Head thrown into the phone and throat tight, Steve wheezes, “I-I think about you all the time when I jerk off. Tommy, um, showed me a dirty magazine with guys in it and I, I want you to do all that stuff to me. I…” He grits his teeth, hand lazy as it strokes up and down. It’s so embarrassing, hearing himself in the quiet house. But on the line, Billy’s breaths are loud, too. Encouraging. “I always come really fast when I think about you touching me instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The warm hum so close in his ear has Steve’s hand picking up speed, spreading eager wetness around to make the slide better. He could spit or lick his palm, but he likes to think Billy would rather watch him squirm through the discomfort. Like maybe Billy has a cruel streak just under the surface. He’s not exactly a jolly, cheerful person. Anything is possible in Steve’s hazy mind as he pops the head of his dick through the tight circle of his fist. Still pretending it’s Billy’s rough hand instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And are you touching yourself right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No shame when Steve nods and hums, “Mmhmm. I hnnn, I wish you were here, Uncle Billy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve wishes he could grasp just a scrap of Billy’s poise. Billy breathes hard into the phone, but his voice doesn’t break or waver. He knows exactly what to say, how to say it to make Steve’s shoulders hunch and his skin prick with excitement. Distantly, Steve thinks maybe his nipples are hard and rub against his shirt. So, he once again wedges the kitchen phone between his shoulder and head to free a hand. Only to shove his shirt up his chest to draw a teasing finger around and around the buzzing nub. Pinching and rolling it makes his next breath choke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes he wonders if other boys are sensitive here like he is. Boys don’t play with their nipples. That’s girl stuff, but fuck it feels good. Would Billy touch him here? Play with rosy-brown peaks only to kiss and lick them? Suck on them? Steve hopes so with a breathy moan he tries to keep quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy,” he pleads softly even though he’s alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rustling on the line, the shuffling of clothes, and then Billy’s voice warm again, “Tell me what you’re doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a request, but it is gentle in that strange way of Billy’s. ‘Open your mouth.’ Steve’s face may never return to its normal color as he swallows hard and tries to make it sound good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I um… I’m touching my dick and pretending it’s you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What am I doing to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets Steve’s stomach dropping for the floor and pours more heat between his legs. How he forgets the effect Billy’s voice has on him, he’ll never know. Maybe it’s the distance. Maybe it’s the deep rumble he’s never heard before. Something. It makes him want to comply and say all the nasty things he keeps to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voice barely above a whisper, Steve confesses, “You’re not touching me very much. It’s um it’s slow, like you’re teasing me, cuz you know I’ll come fast and you don’t want that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clever boy,” he purrs, hitting Steve in a way he’ll never be able to explain. “That’s very good, but how does my hand feel on you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve bites himself while looking down his bent body. He smears his thumb through clear precome and then pulls the pad away until a sticky string connects him back to the source.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Warm and… good.” How lame. He needs to be better. Shuffling to spread his legs wider, Steve tries again, “You haven’t touched me a lot but I’m already really wet. Your thumb is sticky because I-you keep rubbing on the tip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feels good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost cries as he does it again, thumb flicking fast and messy over his blushing head. He’s wet enough for it to make a filthy sound, and Steve hopes Billy can hear it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” He pants, rocking his hips into his loose fist for more. Jeans tight around him, Steve begins to sweat. “Please touch me more, it’s not enough!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s next exhale is a shuddering one that stutters through his nose. It’s almost hotter than Billy talking to him. To know Steve excites him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will, pretty boy, don’t worry. I want you to lick the mess you made on my thumb and then I’ll make you come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost does just from the threat, the promise in Billy’s voice. Steve whines like he’s coming and has to flinch his thighs shut to try and control it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so close, Uncle Billy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what you have to do, Stevie. I’m waiting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes it good through the phone, lapping his wet skin with his mouth hanging open. Makes pretty noises for Billy and even seals his lips around his thumb like he wants to around Billy’s dick. The talons of shame cannot hope to rake him red and raw, now. He’s Billy’s to use and command, and that fact sets aside the shame that is uniquely his. Steve slaps both shoes to the wood paneling of the breakfast bar and leans into the stool’s backrest. Like Billy is here, body strong and wide as he slots between Steve’s thighs and forces them as far apart as they’ll go. Like those petite women in the magazine held open by their ankles while a man pistons into them. Even when they stare up at him with big eyes, don’t hurt me, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, but he fucks them hard anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the haze of Steve’s wild pleasure, heart about to burst out of his chest, Billy’s strained voice asks him, “Wanna come?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pants hard over his wet thumb as he smears the pad over his lips. Degrading in a way, but it makes him throb and gush where he needs Billy’s hand so badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy breathes hard again and grunts, “Ask nicely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The why escapes Steve. If it’s something kinky like handcuffs and leather. Or maybe Billy just likes it. Whatever the reason, Steve has to choke back a loud moan. He’s never thought of someone ordering him around like this. Much like Billy calling him clever and praising him, Billy talking to him like this is hotter than he can explain. Hotter than he understands. So he doesn’t try to reason with it. Let it ride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please let, I mean please make me come, Uncle Billy. It hurts so much and I need you. Touch me, oh god I-I need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy bites back his own noise on the line. Maybe he’s touching himself, too. Steve hopes so, wishes he were there to do it for Billy instead. Even if he’d probably fumble with Billy and be crappy at it. He wants, wants, wants!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s breathless when he groans, “Stevie…” Rustling on the line, the sound of Billy spitting, and then ragged, “Touch yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Toes curling in his shoes, Steve obeys. His fingers long since bored at his numb nipple creep down the trembling, flat plane of his belly. He may drop the phone with both hands tucked between his legs, but fuck it, he needs this. Steve curls his hips up until he has to plant his shoes on the edge of the granite countertop. Like this, he spreads himself impossibly wide. Wide enough to sneak long fingers under his jeans. Farther down and over his balls drawn up tight to play with the dry pucker of his ass. He just as quickly smacks that hand back to his mouth, sucks on his first two fingers, and then resumes circling his rim. The other hand is fast and tight over velvety flesh, just as Billy commands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice shredding through each inhale and exhale, Steve babbles like Billy is right here, “Feels so good, please let me come, please, please, I’ll be good. Want you inside me, want your fingers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trailing off like that, Steve’s head swims with Billy’s punched-out moan flowing over him like warm water. He presses hard on his hole like he’ll dip inside, tightens to keep himself out. No not him. Billy. Billy wouldn’t hurt him, but this dances on the edge of danger. That Billy would hold him down and make Steve take him dry. Push and push and push until his body has no choice but to open for thick fingers. Or thick cock. Steve trembles against his slimmer fingers and tightens his fist. He’s so close, wants to come for Billy, wants this for them. Because if he shows Billy how good he can be right now, then Billy will want him more and more in July. They can have sex and be together and fall into each other like Steve wants, and Billy will love him and keep him forever, and— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucking between his hands with his body already snapping through pulses of come, Steve shrieks, “Billy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice breaks, so embarrassing, but Steve comes too hard to care. Harder than he has in a while, noises flooding the kitchen with every wave of his orgasm. Just loud whines and drawn out moans when he can catch his breath. He’s mostly deaf to them anyway with charged blood blocking his ears. Below, Steve is sure his jeans and the bottom of his shirt dot with wet spots from his come. The knuckles of his fist had caught the weaker pulses while he painted his clothes with the first, explosive ones. It’s nothing a wash can’t fix, and he’s been doing his laundry since he was eleven or twelve, so. Makes it easier to hide his naughtiness from his parents. He has needs and little self control. Especially not since Christmas. Especially not with Billy panting and holding back noises in his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie,” he sighs, exhausted. “Jesus Christ…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soft and shy now, Steve asks so small, “Did you come too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A grunt. “Close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to come, too,” he groans with some of his tenor back. “Please? I’d help if I were there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s the sweetness that does it for Billy. Maybe it’s Steve’s eagerness and honesty. Something. But Billy’s panting breaths pick up and up and up. Then stuttered, broken moans timed in a familiar sort of way drone in Steve’s ear. Steve gives an interested twitch and throb as he eats up Billy’s every sound all the way to the end. Billy quiets quickly, though, doesn’t carry on like Steve does. Oh well. Hearing Billy lose control as he’d come is the hottest thing Steve has ever heard. And he’s had to sit through Tommy feel Carol up right next to him. And Carol is loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie,” Billy breathes after he calms all the way down. “Fucking hell, kiddo, that was…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say you regret it.” Steve winces as he lowers his legs and tries to stand. His thighs tremble and ache after being held open like that. “I won’t believe you. No lies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is silent for a spell. Long enough for Steve to stumble like a colt on his long legs to the sink and wash his hands. He’ll wrap the whole kitchen up with the cord sticking out of the phone still pinned between his shoulder and ear. That’s all starting to hurt from the pressure, too. And Billy is just sitting in the back room of his shop. They’ll have to get off the phone soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just when Steve thinks Billy will scold him for something, the older man sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No lies,” he agrees. Resigned, always resigned to this charged thing between them. Steve can’t wait for the day Billy gives in like him. “I miss my little buddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s throat clenches tightly around, “I miss you, too, Uncle Billy. So much.” He bites himself, debating about pushing Billy. The older man’s resolve is weak, he can tell. “I wanna kiss you like we did on Christmas. And I wanna sleep next to you and hold you back and touch you. I hope you let me, I-I probably won’t be any good, but I wanna try. I just… wanna be good for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what inspires those words or what possesses him to say them like that. All light and breathy, like he thinks a girl from the magazine would. If Billy were here, he’d stare up at that stern face through the top of his vision, not moving his head to meet Billy’s eyes. Like how Carol does to Tommy when she asks him to sneak into her room on a Friday night. All big eyes and pouty lips. Not too pouty so she looks like a child. Just enough. Tempting. He needs to learn how to do that for July, needs to learn a lot so he can make good on that promise. He wants to be… a good boy for Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy grunts and grumbles on his end, maybe doing the sort of clean up as Steve, and then he says gently, “It won’t be long. And you know when you miss me, you can call me, right? Just leave a message, Stevie, I’ll always call you back when I can. Don’t sweat it if your parents are home and they answer. You can just call me when it’s safe. That’s all I care about, you hear me? I never want to hurt you. Understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve grips tightly to the phone all over again and holds himself low around his stomach. His arm and his strength cannot compare to what he needs right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, I guess. And you miss me too, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy had said as much. Steve just wants to hear it again. To know his affections are not one sided, that Billy needs him, too. That’s all he wants: to be needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, pretty boy,” Billy chuckles all honey and warm again, rougher from his orgasm. “I miss you all the time.” No sooner that gets out then a knock on a door cuts through. “Yea, I’m almost done, gimme a second… I’m sorry, Stevie, I gotta get out there. Call me this weekend and tell me all about what you and that Tommy kid got up to. Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing his heart down, Steve nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I will… I love you, Uncle Billy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. A breath. The bustling of the shop filters through stronger and stronger for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, baby. Happy birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line goes dead. Steve can’t even be upset. Not with Billy’s ‘baby’ purring through the deepest pit of his mind. He’ll hear it when he closes his eyes until sleep, and then he’ll hear it in his dreams. He twitches in his jeans, could go again if he wants. He thinks about the Vaseline in his parent’s medicine cabinet. Thinks about the jar he remembers seeing in Tommy’s big brother’s room. He connects the dots, rubs his thighs together to remember his curious caresses just before, and then races for the stairs. It may hurt, but he wants to try. He has to start getting ready for Billy. Everything has to be perfect.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Two chapters of hanky panky back to back! Steve is 17 now. Don't forget to like, comment, and subscribe.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>April showers bring May flowers. And then June is like a bloated carcass on the side of the freeway. The muggy, Indiana heat grows thicker everyday. And the days are long, the summer solstice just passed. Steve has a grueling two more days until his flight out of Chicago, his parents chaperoning him to the airport. When they’re near him, he has to act like they’re more excited than he is. It’s best, he’s decided, if his parents think he’s finally grown out of his childish attachment to his uncle. It’s what kids do. Why hold excitement over someone you rarely see? Who doesn’t have much to do with you? It’s easy to convince them. Every time they ask about his excitement, he smiles and shrugs. Feigns disinterest. He could not be more hungry for these next two weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s gotten better at plenty of things since their first tryst on the phone. Hell, he improved with every sordid phone call, he thinks. Better at replying fast and filthy to Billy when Billy asks him a question. Better about picking out specific things Billy wants to hear so Billy doesn’t have to keep prying and prompting him. And each time he does well and gets to hear the treat of Billy moaning his passion, Steve counts it as a step in the right direction. He arouses Billy. Billy must want him. Billy will finally give in to this wild thing between them and fall into it like Steve wants him to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phone calls are only one part of his improvement, though. It’s no miracle the first time Billy had told him to touch his ass that Steve’s middle finger slid in with a needy moan rather than a pained one. And when Steve confessed his secret, no lies between them, Billy quickly had Steve cramming three fingers into him, wrist aching from the strain. But he did it, rocked his fingertips into some place he only reaches every few times he does this. He came curled up with his knees in his ears, shooting the underside of his chin. It’s too much work to feel inside every time he wants to come, though. So he gets better at lasting while playing with his cock, too. He’ll be good for Billy in every possible way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So his hopes are high. It’s dangerous, but he lets them bob free like balloons released on the Fourth of July. He lies awake after watching the local fireworks show and stares at a ceiling painted in blue. The pool has been in use for over a month now. Steve won’t need it where he’s going tomorrow. Maybe if he stays awake he’ll just sleep through the car ride and then the plane taking him to San Diego. He hopes anyway, because he doesn’t like the idea of being stuck in a metal can 30,000 feet above the ground. His stomach has been in knots and threatening violence all day. Just nerves. Just jitters over seeing the man he loves so much. Alone together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve rolls onto his belly with his bottom lip in his teeth, pressing his interested erection into the bed. He hasn’t touched himself in three days, made it a challenge to withhold. At first just to see if he could. Now, he does it in the hopes that his first time with Billy will be all the better. Billy will outlast him, whatever they do. Steve can’t fool himself into thinking any other way. Billy outlasts him on the phone, is a grown man that doesn’t have Steve’s snappy trigger finger, so to speak. If Steve wanted to, he could rut into his mattress right now and make a mess of himself. The curse of being a teenage boy and ready to go. So he lies there with his cheeks on fire and just presses his weight down on his cock. It’ll soften eventually, and Steve falls asleep with his mind distracting him from the dull throb between his legs. It won’t matter soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His parents can’t shove him on the plane fast enough. With him not in Hawkins, they’ll use that as an excuse to stay in their condo in Chicago. It’s a nice place somewhere downtown with a view of Lake Michigan. Expensive. They used to threaten to sell the house in Hawkins every year and just make him go to a private school in Chicago. So they could be a family again. Not that Steve believed that for a damn second. They neglect him in Hawkins, they’d do much the same in Chicago. Only they would feel less guilty about it, because technically they’d all be together. Steve slumps against the window of the plane and glances down at the fields of Kansas passing as a sea of crops under him. It’s not much to look at, so he curls his long legs up as best he can and just dozes. The recycled air and pressure make him queasy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stepping off the plane and stumbling down the metal steps hooked up to the aircraft is surreal. Like it’s not happening to him but someone else and he’s just along for the ride. Mostly because Steve’s head kills, his mouth is dry, his ears ache… Everything basically sucks, and now he has to figure out where to go for his bags. He tags along behind a family like a lost dog, but they lead him where he needs to go. And they don’t notice him pathetic and alone, so he avoids that awkward conversation. He’s not… entirely sure where Billy is. He knows he’s supposed to meet Billy at ‘arrivals.’ Wherever that is. Bags heavier than he’d like, Steve stumbles away in the direction he thinks he needs to go. By some miracle, he looks up at the signs pointing people to different terminals, ground transportation, passenger pick up… Maybe that way?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ends up outside in the San Diego heat with smog from taxis idling and people honking in a long queue to whisk passengers away. No, this isn’t right. Billy had said he would be inside the airport waiting for Steve, not at the curb like this. Hands sweaty around the handles of his bags, Steve slinks back inside and scurries around. He can’t let panic set in. He’ll just run in circles and frustrate himself even more. At least the AC is cranking in here, and the sweat that beaded on his upper lip and forehead dries up. Wandering down an escalator deeper into the chilly air sounds as good as any other direction. Eventually, he finds himself amongst ticket counters and people wandering into the airport… not out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having a fit alone in an airport isn’t an option for him. He’s 17, damn it, he doesn’t need to get so frustrated that he tears up. It’s just one more obstacle getting in his way of seeing Billy. Time to retrace his steps. Or sit down. Steve shivers in the AC blasting him and thinks that if he sits down, his hopelessness will creep up on him and he’ll have to bite himself to not freak out. He could ask for help, but that’s even more humiliating than struggling. Everything so sore from traveling all day and then running around this damn airport, Steve turns on his heel to go back the way he’d come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve walks face-first into a chest that has no give, hands that cup his shoulders so gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Figures we’d run into each other while I’ve been looking all over for you for twenty minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bored drawl is so casual, but Steve has to whip his bangs out of his eyes and see Billy to believe they’ve found each other. Then it’s just a simple matter of dropping the handles of his bags, leaping against Billy’s chest, and throwing his arms around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy stumbles back with a laugh and a, “Whoa!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy!” Steve smashes his face into Billy’s neck and holds on, dancing on his tiptoes. “I’m so glad you found me.” He pulls away, wishes Billy would hold his face and kiss him. “I got lost and I was about to freak out… I couldn’t find you, I-I’m sorry…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Billy does slip a hand up from Steve’s waist to cradle his cheek. Only for a moment, only until Steve’s lips tug up in a brief smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, it’s fine. You found me, buddy, don’t worry about it.” Billy grins easier than Steve has ever seen. Probably because to anyone watching, they’re nobody. They can be free here. “How was the flight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve deflates with Billy’s warmth gone from his face. His discomfort from the flight comes rushing back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My head hurts and I feel sick,” he mumbles, looking away. “Not like sick-sick, just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you could sleep for a day and need a few showers to feel clean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He perks up and meets Billy’s smirk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, exactly…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy ushers them in a different direction—probably drawing them to wherever he’d parked—and drawls, “Yea, I hate flying too. Pain in the ass, right? My legs always fall asleep and I get jittery, can’t walk around, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d certainly felt trapped. Especially when the person next to him made a big deal about getting up so Steve could use the bathroom. Thankfully, it was the only time Steve needed to bother them. Whatever. He’s with Billy now, and they can start their vacation together. Steve muses to himself trailing along behind Billy with one of his bags in the older man’s grip that it’s not really a vacation for Billy. He’ll still end up going to the shop and working, living his life. Only they’ll do it together. It’s all Steve has ever wanted. Just to be with someone who wants him around and enjoys his company. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flight chooses now, safe in Billy’s car and out of the heat, to drain the rest of his energy. Steve doesn’t remember passing out to riffs from some metal song playing from the speakers, Billy slapping his hands on the steering wheel and practically dancing in his seat. It’s cute, and Steve wants to stay awake to watch Billy be so candid. But he slumps against the warmth of the window rolled up, forehead smudging the glass with oil, and promptly passes out. Normally, he can’t fall asleep in cars. The motion tosses his stomach or he just doesn’t trust Dad driving. Not that Billy is a safe driver, weaving in and out of the fast lane to bunny hop over slower cars. Being in the older man’s bubble just draws that trust out of Steve. Billy has to nudge and then gently pet him awake when that doesn’t work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, kiddo, just stay awake long enough to shower and get some food in you. You can sleep all you want after.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s head rolls onto his shoulder without the passenger door to prop him up. Billy’s body shades him from the afternoon sun, but all the AC in the car is long gone. Steve can’t hear the ocean, but he can smell it. And seagulls cry nearby. So that’s a novelty, and he wants to see one up close. He has no idea how big they are in real life. But there’s the matter of getting out of the car to do all this, never mind doing what Billy wants him to do. Still soft and melty in the car, Steve peeks around Billy’s hip to find both his bags sitting just inside Billy’s apartment. It’s a ground floor apartment. Small from the outside, probably smaller inside. The curtains in the big, front window are parted, and Steve sees straight through to a patio door on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A whine and then, “Carry me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy sputters through a laugh, shakes his head, and murmurs, “Think you’re gonna be spoiled just cuz you’re on vacation, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve slaps at his seatbelt and then throws grabby hands up at Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Carry me!” He whines louder, obnoxious and bratty. He sticks his bottom lip out to lay it on thick. “Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you 17 or 7?” Billy mutters under his breath, more for himself than Steve. “Get out before you start sticking to the seats.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says it with his face soft with fondness, his words being the only things with an edge. Impatience. Billy hates kids, Steve reminds himself, and he’s being rather immature right now. Sighing, Steve hauls himself out of the car and hisses when the metal body burns his palms. He doesn’t dwell on the pain for long. Billy slaps the passenger door shut, steps close until he wedges a thigh between Steve’s legs, and then picks him up with an arm around him. He leaves Steve to scramble with both hands clawing at his back and those long legs snapping around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grunting, Billy hikes Steve higher on his hip and grumbles, “Don’t say I never did anything nice for you, boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mindless to anybody who could be watching, Steve just wraps himself tighter around Billy. Surely any of Billy’s neighbors would have been fed a lie. Or the truth they live under—that Billy is his ‘uncle’ and Steve is staying for two weeks. Truth or lie, it doesn’t matter to Steve. Let them think whatever they want so long as they don’t know the actual truth. Steve’s limbs squeeze Billy tighter than ever before when they get inside and Billy kicks the door shut. No one will take Billy away from him. Steve won’t let that happen. And now alone in the apartment, blessedly cool and shaded, Steve lifts his head from Billy’s shoulder. He aims for the older man’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s heart drops with Billy’s initial flinch. Like Billy won’t let them kiss now that they’re alone. But it must be something else—a startle or flinch on reflex—because Billy sees him and what he’s doing a second later and bows his head enough to meet cherry lips. All the heartache and uncertainty that have festered since their last, stolen kiss the days after Christmas melt away with the slide of their lips. Steve whines high and pretty as he darts his head again and again to smack needy kisses to Billy’s mouth. A snort puffs against his face, and then Billy cranes his head away. A corner of his mouth ticks up when Steve just pouts at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Missed me, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know I did,” Steve insists. Billy still stays away even when Steve leans weight into him. He doesn’t have any leverage with his legs still wrapped around Billy. “Come on, why did you stop? I know you wanna kiss me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Billy drawls with an actual smirk this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well if you don’t, then put me down and I’ll go fall asleep on your couch or whatever.” Steve looks away, partially feigning hurt but also letting it actually sting him. “I just thought you missed me too. That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A warm hum tickles his ear, and then equally warm kisses press with soft sounds up his jaw. Steve wiggles in the circle of Billy’s arms and turns his head to catch Billy in real kisses. Not that he doesn’t enjoy the tenderness. He’s just tired and getting grumpy the longer he’s not asleep. Fussy. He wants kisses now that they can share them, wants to take a shower, and then wants to pull Billy into bed with him… Wherever Billy’s bedroom is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s apartment isn’t exactly tidy. If the carpet hadn’t been brown before Billy moved in, it is now with all the shag matted down in high-traffic areas. Piles of mail sit on the coffee table under brown rings from coffee mugs and an overflowing ashtray. It doesn’t quite smell like stale or spoiled food in here, but it’s not fresh, either. Steve blames it on the windows being tightly shut to beat the heat. Although he suspects Billy probably doesn’t use his AC that much. Because on top of the stale smell in here, the must of mildew from the AC unit sticking out of the wall coats everything. It’s not like at home where heat and cool air rush around the house through vents. And everything is clean, because Steve’s house isn’t really a home. Billy lives so differently from him, and Steve can’t help slowing down the bob of their heads as the realization sets in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy mouths one more kiss to his stiff lips, cracks open his eyes, and murmurs, “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you um…” He tries to meet Billy’s bored expression, but he knows what he’s about to say will probably irritate him. This is the nicest way he can think to say it. “Do you want me to help you clean up? Or I can just do it? You’ve got a lot of… clutter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Billy’s thin lips do roll together into a flat line. He sighs and glances around, although the eye rolling and grumbling never comes. Billy bends at the waist and nudges Steve in his arms. Get down. He doesn’t slip his arms from around Steve even with the teenager’s sneakers touch down on the flat carpet. They stand hip-to-hip like that, and Billy even kisses his forehead through a sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, I meant to pick some of this shit up before you got here. But then I got to thinking about it and realized you’re gonna know I’m a slob even if I try to hide it, so.” Billy shrugs. “I said fuck it and left everything alone. I can pick up this trash, though. I should have anyway. My bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is quick to shake his head and squeeze Billy’s shoulders when he insists, “No, it’s like whatever, you know? It’s your apartment, you don’t gotta change for me, you’re right. I just…” Steve bites his bottom lip and stares somewhere near Billy’s throat. “Sometimes I get… lonely, I guess. Sad. And I can’t clean up around the house, and then mom and dad come home and yell at me because the house is a mess. Or they think so. So I thought maybe you wanted some help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand drifts up from the small of his back to cup his head. Billy nudges Steve forward to hold him to his neck, swaying them a little in their embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s really thoughtful of you, kiddo. I promise I’m just a slob, though, I’m not wallowing in misery.” A kiss to the side of his head. “I did miss you, though, so you got that right. I missed you a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy can’t say that to his face, but Steve doesn’t care. The strong arms around him tighten their embrace, and that’s all Steve wants. He tips his head to mouth kisses along the warm column of Billy’s throat. It’s prickly with facial hair. He’d forgotten what it’s like to kiss someone with facial hair, and Steve’s upper lip is appropriately tingly and numb from Billy’s moustache. That tingly numbness is all his, now, and Steve nuzzles his face harder to Billy’s neck. He wants to kiss and suck and bite like he’s seen Tommy do to Carol. Even though she snaps at him and smacks his arms hard to get him to stop… But the mark Tommy leaves on her neck always gets Steve’s stomach tight. He wonders what that feels like. If it hurts. If he’d be able to feel the phantom press of teeth in him, the phantom pull of lips sucking blood just under his skin. Steve shivers hard against Billy’s warmth and nudges himself back, wanting up. Billy lets him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really missed you, too,” he says with big eyes up at Billy. They’re closer in height than at Christmas. Now, Steve’s eyes are level with Billy’s shadowed jaw. Still, Steve has to tip his head up to steal a kiss. “I’m… really happy to be here. With you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all he’s thought about for the past week or so. The thought was never far from his mind the moment Billy told him on his birthday, of course. But he couldn’t exactly tell anyone precisely what they’ll get up to. Tommy and Carol just know he’s here for two weeks with his cool uncle from California. Even though Tommy and Carol know they’re not related by blood but by familial bonds. It’ll be more than that, soon. If Billy lets them go that far. Whatever Billy will allow, Steve will beg and claw to have. He’s never wanted anything more than that—that passionate closeness with Billy that Tommy brags about having with Carol. Apparently, they’ve already had sex. But Tommy doesn’t seem any different. So Steve isn’t sure. Surely something would be different about him, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you listening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve startles with a strong hand on his hip and another cradling his jaw. Billy just huffs a laugh at him and pets his thumb over Steve’s cheek again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you hear me, Stevie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, sorry…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy drops his hand only to flick it over Steve’s shoulder and to Steve’s right. Deeper into the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said why don’t you throw your bags in my room and then hop in the shower. If you’re hungry, I’ve got stuff I can heat up for you. Or if you’d rather sleep, I’ll pull out the bed for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve blinks up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pull out the bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, it’s one of those that folds up into the wall, whatever the hell it’s called, some guy’s name… Murphy bed?” Billy’s lips purse and flatten over it. “I think that’s what it’s called. But anyway, I don’t know if you’re strong enough to pull it out of the wall. Do you want me to leave it out so you can just crash after your shower? I’m gonna pick up some of this shit while you’re in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Food sounds good… But Steve would rather wait to eat until the stale smell in here is gone. It turns his stomach a little, thinking about what may be causing such a stink. He wishes he didn’t feel this way, but he refuses to be upset with Billy. Billy is a bachelor, used to living a certain way. Hell, the only reason Steve’s room is clean of dirty clothes and wrappers from snacks when Billy comes over for Christmas is because his parents hound him about it. And besides, Billy says he’ll clean up, so…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes please,” he says while staring somewhere near the collar of Billy’s t-shirt. “I think I’ll skip food, I’m not really hungry anyway. Still feel a little sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What’s a white lie between them? The flight still drains him even after the short nap in the car. How he’ll stay standing and wobbly in the shower, he’s not sure. Hopefully Billy will hear the dull thud of him falling if he passes out. Not that he wants to suffer the embarrassment of Billy struggling with his waterlogged weight. Shivering and sort of clammy all over, Steve glances up through the top of his vision to see what Billy makes of this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re sure,” Billy says slowly, clearly not sure himself but willing to let Steve have this. “It’s really not a problem, I promise I have food here for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, I believe you. I’m really not hungry. I just wanna sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy hums, says, “Shower first,” and then nods Steve on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easier to pick his bags up than try to roll them across the disgusting carpet. Billy’s bedroom isn’t any bigger than the rest of the apartment. It’s shoehorned into the place like an afterthought. Steve eyes the smooth wall that sort of sticks out. That must be the bed. So Steve makes sure to kick and nudge his bags closer to the window. So they won’t be in Billy’s way. Not that there’s much room in here to begin with. Steve isn’t sure what he’s expected but… not this. He can’t deny the disappointment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It follows him into the bathroom. Everything has that musty, slightly damp smell and look to it. The forest-green tiles in here would probably look grimy even if someone took a toothbrush to the grout. At least the tiny window in the wall above the tub is frosted. The kitchen is on the other side of the wall from the sink, toilet, and tub. Music like from the car plays—heavy riffs and heavier drums. Billy’s music. Steve hopes Billy is making good on his promise of picking up. Steve glances around the bathroom, eyeing every surface that has a sheen to it, and decides he’ll probably clean the bathroom. Maybe he can be sneaky about it so Billy won’t get mad…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least the water is hot when Steve turns it on. He half expects it to come out cold or brown. It tastes a little funny, not like the water at home, so he spits it off his lips instead of letting it in his mouth. Steve’s joy rises like the steam around him when he realizes he’s about to make one of his fantasies a reality. Because this is Billy’s apartment, so all the haircare products sitting on the shelves are Billy’s! Now, he’ll finally get to smell a little like Billy. Billy is the one who’d given him pointers when he was younger about growing his hair out. ‘A bad influence,’ Dad called it. And yet here Steve is, pushing his bangs off his face. He likes having big hair. Like Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dampness in the bathroom when Steve steps out of the tub is a hug on a summer day. Unpleasant and claustrophobic. Steve can’t get dry in here like this. And forcing fresh clothes to slide onto damp skin is never fun. Huffing, Steve drapes said clothes over his arm and cracks the door open. The music blaring from the kitchen filters in from the right, Billy’s closed bedroom door across the way. Steve pauses with only his head stuck outside the bathroom door. The rest of him huddles behind the wall. Already the silky AC that fills the rest of the apartment slides fingertips over his damp skin. It sucks the fresh heat right out of him and makes him shiver on his toes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the coast looks sufficiently clear, Billy nowhere in sight, Steve leaps out of the bathroom. Almost throwing his whole body into the damn door, Steve paws the knob open with one hand. His other is too busy trying to clutch his clothes to his chest. Flailing on his toes, the door pops open where it sticks at the bottom and just about has him tripping ass over teakettle. Instead, he only stumbles a few steps and rises from his bow to stare Billy in the face at his closet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is of course still naked. He’s caught Billy in the middle of undressing. His arms freeze where they cross in front of him to whip his shirt off. Even from here, Steve knows there’s a sweat spot where the dip of Billy’s spine had been. The salt of him drifts on the air, and Steve tastes it in the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s arms hesitate to drop back down. To leave his shirt on. Steve stares him square in the eyes while sliding his own arm down first. His clothes waiting on his forearm had kept him modest. But he wants Billy to look at him. He didn’t even mean for this to happen. In his gut, the universe tugs on him. The same rush that drove him to sneak to Billy Christmas night to confess his deepest secret. And look where that got him. So he obeys and follows that tug now. Just behind Billy, the Murphy bed is down from the wall. The sheets look clean. Steve’s insides do a funny thing to think Billy has maybe changed them just now. Out of consideration for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My bad, kiddo, I was just changing my shirt. Taking trash all the way to the dumpster in that heat sucks, and walking in this ice box with a damp shirt didn’t feel too good either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s arms have lowered some in the lull. Not enough to hide a hard nipple peeking just below the hem of his t-shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Steve finds the strength to keep his voice even, smooth when he says, “Don’t let me interrupt. It’s still humid in the bathroom. Can’t get my clothes on like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve bows his chin just enough to look away from Billy. Only to sneak a glance or two from an angle. Something he’s lifted from Carol. This always gets Tommy grinning and shivering. Hyper little boy turned loose on a playground. Sliding his thighs together, Steve bends into those slim shoulders of his. To entice. To make himself a little smaller. Which is almost a relief for Steve. Growing up and catching up on Billy makes him uncertain. But he holds on to his bravery here while he eats the sight of Billy in low-slung jeans and the bulky lines of him exposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voice weaker than before but not cracking, Steve breathes, “Will you take your shirt off? Please, Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s arms relax ever so slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was gonna lie down with you. If you wanted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That perks Steve right up, whips a shiver right through him. It has nothing to do with the AC unit in the bedroom window blasting his front with icy caresses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please,” he says softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Billy still pauses, asks, “You’re okay with my shirt off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is being silly about things again. Doesn’t he remember Christmas night? Billy had held him the rest of the night wearing only boxers. What does it matter now? Steve blinks his eyes back into focus and appreciates Billy’s body through the muffled sunlight. A red sheet cuts across the window in an arc. Cuts the light and heat in here, too. Again Steve shivers and sort of holds himself low across his hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yea, of course. Nothing I haven’t seen before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That draws Billy’s eyes down to the rest of Steve’s nakedness. Almost on reflex does Steve’s right thigh try to flinch up to shield himself. Caught in Billy’s crossfires, though, Steve’s instincts drag their feet until the urge to hide forgets why it coalesced from the ether. Slim fingers loosen their grip on Steve’s clean clothes until they fall to the carpet below. Steve doesn’t care. With his hand free, he takes a step closer and makes sure Billy can see all of him. He wants Billy to look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna lie down like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drag of Billy’s gaze up to Steve’s face is as thick as his drawled, “Naked?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve can only convince his eyes as high as Billy’s stern lips when he mumbles, “Will you touch me? A little?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hold perfectly still for a few breaths. Anything could happen. So Steve’s next inhale hitches when Billy swings through the motions of whipping his shirt off. It ends up in the pile of other clothes on the closet floor. The door track is covered. Billy can’t close the sliding door. That doesn’t matter to Steve as Billy shuffles his shoulders, turns towards him, and then steps forward until Billy is in front of him. Steve isn’t quite used to being eye-level with Billy’s strong jaw. With Steve’s hair still wet and the wave of his bangs pushed back, he doesn’t have any cover. Billy’s stare is too intense to meet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pink lips barely move at the top of Steve’s vision when Billy murmurs down at him, “A little?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve only has a nod prepared as a response. So his breath panics and threatens to choke him when big hands sweep up from Billy’s sides to settle on slim shoulders. They squeeze him to coax tension out of him, and then Billy thumbs warmth across his collarbones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How much is a little?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doe eyes still can’t look any higher than Billy’s lips. If Billy asks him to meet his eyes, Steve is pretty sure his knees will buckle. To avoid that murmured command, Steve glances up once. Lightning fast. Blue sears him, and then Steve is away, away, away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you…” Steve swallows his dry voice and tries again with a few licks of his lips. “Can I sit in your lap? And will you touch me while we kiss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hands slide to Steve’s neck, and each palm cups the sides of his pretty throat. No pressure. No intent. Just holding him with thick fingertips playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can do this. They’ve done this over the phone so many times now. Doing it with Billy’s voice so close, his body heat rolling off him, so real and alive… It’ll take some courage. Steve’s lips tremble on his next exhale through them, tongue following to wet them again. His throat is painful and tight when he lifts his hands to rest them on Billy’s chest. He can do this. Steve shuffles that much closer and welcomes slight pressure on his jaw that wants his head up. Steve follows the order but keeps his eyes down, no higher than those stern lips that wait for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My cock. I wanna sit in your lap while you”—Steve shivers and presses his hands harder to Billy’s skin—“touch my cock. Please, Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had over three months to practice this look. Carol teased him about it, asking him why he would ever need to pull such a move on someone. Only girls look at boys this way. Not the other way around. But he made her promise not to tell Tommy. She agreed after that, it becoming their little secret. And Tommy hates to be left out. It’s double the teasing for Carol; so it’s a win-win for her. A win for Steve too as he turns big eyes up at Billy without moving his head. All he can hope is that it works on Billy and that he doesn’t look completely stupid while doing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A wild shiver shakes the fingers at Steve’s jaw, and all the arm hair on Bill stands up. But his resting face softens into something amused. The grip at Steve’s face turns gentle again. Steve’s heart does a flip or two when Billy pets the apples of his cheeks with both thumbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who taught you how to make big eyes up at me like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His grin is genuine, and so Steve has no choice but to drop his stare and squirm under its power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no one, I just…” His face heats up even more with what he’s about to say. Steve’s fingers tense and curl up a bit on Billy’s chest when he tries again while looking up, “Please? I really want you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Billy had already planned on lying down with him. The sooner they get to that part, the better. The window unit sticking out of the wall behind Billy is hellbent on freezing Steve where he stands. It’s better than the sunny heat outside. It’s one thing to enjoy the heat while in the shade or swimming. Something to combat the sun. But just being in it? No thanks. Steve would rather stand here with all his skin sticking up from the chill and his thighs shaking where they press together. His shivering draws Billy’s amusement down, although that does not squash it. Those callused hands abandon Steve’s face only to rub warmth into his shoulders. Billy touching him so freely emboldens him, and Steve steps forward to wrap his arms around Billy. Steve ducks his head down to rest on Billy’s heart even when Billy sucks a breath through his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit you’re like ice.” His hands slip over Steve’s shoulders to pet his upper back, as far as Billy can reach. A chuckle laces into Billy’s voice when he teases, “Stevie, why didn’t you say you were cold?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pouting, Steve mumbles, “Cuz you just woulda told me to put my clothes on, and I don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm clever boy.” Billy huffs another laugh above him and then finally tightens his arms over Steve’s shoulders to return Steve’s embrace. “Well in that case should I turn the AC down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head without lifting it from Billy’s chest. The peach fuzz on him rasps as he draws their skin together. It’s a delicate dance, because Steve knows the more they touch so casually like this, the more he’s going to want Billy to reach and take and give. He’s been waiting for this forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, I like it, it feels good cuz you’re so… warm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bites himself after sounding so little and stupid. He’d practiced doing this sort of stuff just for Billy! Not sounding like a kid and saying lame things like that. Steve is mature, not a kid, not the thing Billy hates. Steve huddles closer in his embarrassment and just hugs Billy tighter. He tries not to whine while he does it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is still soft amusement and fondness above him when he drawls, “Yea? You think so? Lucky for you I like to sleep on the AC side of the bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of Billy’s hands wanders up from petting Steve’s back to sink into his hair instead. And Steve does let out a whine at that. All the hair on him stands up from the AC, but now his scalp gets in on it too under Billy’s fingers. Leaning his weight on Billy, Steve’s head is his to manipulate however he wants. Billy hugs him closer, squeezing him so tight while also ducking his head to inhale through Steve’s hair. Billy’s arms just as quickly slither away to take Steve by the hips, pick him up, and then toss him onto the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A yelp fills the room as Billy kicks the door shut and looms with a grin at the end of the mattress. His low-slung jeans are still there, but all of Steve is on display. Enticing. Steve relaxes under that grin as it occurs to him that yes, he has every inch of himself to show off to Billy. So, he turns his head to expose the pale marble of his throat. A slight bend to Steve’s knees brings his legs apart, giving Billy an angle up the splay of him. He’d wanted to be in Billy’s lap so they can cuddle close and kiss while Billy touches him, but… Billy throwing him on the bed excites him more than his original plans, so screw it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve startles in his seductive sprawl when the bed under him dips with Billy’s weight more than he expects. It’s not like Steve’s bed at home: no real sway, springs silent unless he’s being rowdy. The Murphy bed under them protests Billy sliding in with shrill springs and the mattress sagging towards him like a sinkhole. If Steve were on his side, he would roll that way. And the mattress bounces as Billy shuffles to get comfortable on his right side, arm bending to support his head on his fist. Steve forgets all about the weirdness of the bed when Billy blinks down at him and settles a heavy hand over his navel. Huffing, Steve covers the back of that warm hand, trying to push it down where he wants it. Billy just snorts at him and scoops Steve’s hand right back to the bed where it belongs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be greedy,” Billy admonishes him with lips that barely move. “We have all the time in the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That may be true, but Steve has waited years for this. He may not have known what ‘this’ meant when he first stumbled upon his crush on Uncle Billy. Too young, too innocent to know. He’s not innocent now. So many fantasies played out over the phone. So Steve huffs, wiggles closer to Billy’s body heat, and slaps his head down into a pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Touch me,” he mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least this way on his back he doesn’t have to stare Billy in the face while they do this. Not that he’d planned on holding the other man’s intense gaze while they fooled around. Steve already knew he would end up with his face hiding in Billy’s neck. Now, flat on his back, he tries to stop sticking his bottom lip out and just turns his head. Looking away, he doesn’t catch the tug at a corner of Billy’s mouth. He just feels the result of the brief grin when Billy’s relaxed hand brushes up his chest to his collarbones and then back down just above his dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve almost whines, almost slaps his hand to Billy’s to shove it just a little farther down. Almost. But warm breaths puff over his exposed neck, and then his ear is full of Billy’s lips kissing his skin with wetness and soft hums. It’s enough to obliterate Steve’s greediness. Those lazy, wandering kisses have him squirming in no time. Each one lights him up and sends ripples of interest through him. He’d fantasized about this a lot at the beginning. Didn’t know enough about sex besides a dick ending up in a hole. So he would imagine Billy kissing him everywhere. And his neck has always been a particular favorite in these fantasies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bucking a little under Billy’s warm palm that drags over his chest, fingertips sneaky where they swipe past his nipples, Steve whimpers, “Uncle Billy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” Billy hums in his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kisses turn suckling as he leaves Steve to writhe and whine more. When Steve’s hand between them scrambles at Billy’s stomach, he pulls back with another hum. His hand stops low on Steve’s belly. Steve has pubic hair, and he’s rather proud of it. Coarse hair scratches Billy’s palm when it edges lower. Not yet low enough to graze Steve’s semi—he could get fully hard if Billy keeps petting him and playing with his nipples—but so fucking close to where he needs it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy,” Steve tries again with a shudder. His hips pop up despite that rough hand still flat on his belly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie,” Billy whines right back, mocking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Steve pouts and grabs Billy’s hand again. Only it doesn’t budge when Steve paws at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Touch me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought we were working on your manners, baby boy,” Billy wonders aloud, lips brushing the shell of Steve’s blushing ear. “I didn’t hear a ‘please’ just now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said please before!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lips at Steve’s ear smirk around, “And you can say ‘please’ again.” When Steve just paws at the back of Billy’s hand, Billy pinches him in the soft space above his dick. “Mind your manners, boy, say it right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Playful impatience, but not yet a scolding. Billy being forward with him like this is a rush compared to his hesitance during Christmas. They’ve mellowed to each other and established this… play together. How Billy bosses him around, Steve rebels to a point, and then does as he’s told with almost a, ‘Yes, sir.’ Only Billy had asked him with no humor in his voice to never call him ‘sir.’ But it has that air about it. Yes, sir. Yes, Uncle Billy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Uncle Billy,” he sighs now like a prayer. “Please touch me. I’ll be good for you, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lips dot slow kisses over his brow and down to the corner of his left eye. Billy hums against him there, and below his hand stirs back to life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you will, Stevie.” He takes Steve in hand and gives him a healthy squeeze. Calluses so different from the smoothness of Steve’s palm, splay of his fingers wider, the grip of his thumb strange. “I know you’ll be my good boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s out of practice that Steve muffles his moan behind his lips. Sure, he only ever calls Billy to play games with him over the phone when his parents aren’t home. But those two sort of come and go as they please. Steve has been interrupted twice with his parents stumbling loudly through the front door. Both times he saved it, frantically told Billy ‘I love you’ and ‘goodbye’ before trying to make everything casual. Which usually ended up with him reading his textbook while standing near the closet when his parents peeked in. Where he hides the cordless phone from downstairs until he can sneak it back to its cradle. Always annoyed in his heart and burning between his legs. Unfulfilled. So he can’t be too careful while at home. His silence must bother Billy, because those wicked lips tickle his ear again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not gonna last long.” A teasing swipe of rough thumb over his head, and a dangerously thick blot of precome oozes out of him. “Wanna hear you say my name all pretty like you do on the phone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve has to lick his dry lips apart, but he does all to whimper, “Billy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s hips buck up twice, thrusting himself into Billy’s fist. A startle shocks through him, though, when Billy kisses moisture at the corner of his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open your eyes, baby boy. Look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fights it, of course. Not because he doesn’t want to but because he’s never had the pleasure of seeing Billy when he comes. And the older man is already intense enough to put the sun at high noon to shame. So to turn his head all slow like, bite himself, and then lift wet eyes up to meet Billy’s takes everything in him. Belly flopping from it all—eyes watching him, no interest in the way Steve shakes the bed or gushes in his hand, too busy eating up every twitch of expression—Steve’s mouth drops open in a surprised moan when he comes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying and failing to keep his voice low, Steve’s pretty tenor shatters into a thousand pieces. It unravels and turns high through that long, continuous cry of pleasure. Steve even tries to keep his eyes open and on Billy, but that flies out the window, too. Billy’s stern mouth hinting smugness at the corners, wicked, sends doe eyes slamming shut. He wishes he couldn’t hear anymore too. Billy’s fingers tighten around his head right where he’s pulsing and buzzing, and he can’t keep the pathetic whine out of his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another drawn out moan and then finally sobbed at the end, “Billy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Floating for a while after coming isn’t new to Steve. While his belly flops and twitches above his cock until he’s wrung himself dry. It just never lasts longer than a minute or two before he rolls out of bed and goes about his day or night. He’s all twitchy at the ends, can’t feel his fingers or toes from how tightly he curled them. Distantly, the rest of his body bobs with the mattress as Billy gets up. Doe eyes are still shut and a little watery at the corners when Steve whines and pats a hand around for Billy. Because oh, that’s not a good feeling, his stomach tumbling down, down, down like when he’s lonely and missing Billy so terribly. But it’s so much more now that it sours the trailing edge of his first orgasm with Billy actually here…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? You’re shaking.” Billy is back like he’d never left, weight shifting the springy bed once more. A chuckle laces into his voice even as he settles heavy next to Steve and scoops him up. He hums through kisses to Steve’s face while cleaning him up with a damp washcloth. “Stevie, baby, you’re okay, I’m right here. Come on, look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A miracle happens again as Steve forces his eyes open timid and cowed under the flop of his hair. It’s dry enough to curl over his forehead again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another curl of warm chuckles before Billy squeezes him tightly. Softly in his hair, Billy says, “See? You’re okay. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well no, not that Billy is back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huddling against that warm chest, Steve’s shoulders hunch up when he admits, “I didn’t know where you went… I thought I messed up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh,” shushes in his hair immediately. “Hush your mouth. That’s a silly thing to think, that you messed up. There’s nothing to mess up, baby boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s fingers are damp and smell like soap when they hook under Steve’s chin to coax him up. The kiss Billy presses to him that turns wet immediately makes Steve’s distress all worth it. Timidness evaporating, Steve slips his arms around Billy’s neck to draw him closer. They shake with the effort, his whole body about to tremble again. Billy saves him the effort when he rolls onto his back with a laugh and drags Steve on top of him. It’s only now that Steve tunes back into his nakedness pressed to Billy’s chest at the front of his jeans. He’s not hard under Steve’s thigh, and Steve bows his head with regret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t have fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He meets Billy’s lazy grin and smiling eyes for only a second. Long enough to watch the expression fall a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean just now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nod. Billy’s hands on his back sweep up and down all slow like. Enough skin on his to calm Steve down and help him relax. It’s a thin line between a calming touch and an arousing one for a boy his age. If Billy keeps petting him like this, he’ll firm up again. Maybe he can try again? It’s not fair if Billy doesn’t come, too…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve only gets a few rubs of his thigh against the front of Billy’s jeans before both hands grab him by the hips and lift him up. Steve squeaks but doesn’t flail too much. Billy doesn’t drop him to the bed, just holds him aloft so he can’t be naughty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think you’re doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands flat to Billy’s chest once more, Steve’s nerves force him to look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… you didn’t come, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sternness smacked off his face, Billy blinks up at him. It dawns on him then, and he draws Steve back down on top of him, arms squeezing him tightly for a breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm, silly boy,” he hums. “You were really out of it when you finished, so I just took care of that myself. I got mine, don’t worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huffing, Steve turns his head towards the AC unit blowing at them. If only to cool the embarrassment in his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to do it, though,” he mumbles with a pout and another huff. “Not fair that I don’t get to touch you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy laughing under him sends him rocking, but Steve just turns his head farther and harder away, refusing the kisses Billy tries to smack to the pink in his skin. Steve can’t hold out when the arms around him slither back to tickle his sides. It’s cheating! Billy sweeps Steve’s bratty disappointment under the rug when he rolls them. Steve bounces when he lands, but Billy’s hands have yet to give up their mission to tickle him breathless. Billy’s weight caging him in and actually pinning his legs down gives him the upper hand until Steve pleads for no more through laughter and quivering breaths. Under Billy’s weight, Steve’s poor belly writhes while he tries to breathe and evade Billy’s wandering fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! No more, stop tickling me, god damn it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is all laughter in Steve’s hair and ears when he teases, “Language, Stevie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just wiggles harder, scrambling at Billy’s chest, and crows, “Screw you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm better. Still a little crass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says the guy who uses ‘fuck’ in like every sentence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now that is a hyperbole…” Billy pauses at that and sort of glances up with his lips puckered. “Do you even know what that is? They teach you that in English yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they have, Steve certainly doesn’t recall. He just makes a pinched face up at Billy, offended his love would even mention school while they’re together. While Steve is on vacation before his next year in Hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a boner killer,” Steve groans, letting himself melt into the bed under Billy’s weight. “Who mentions school after sex, what a lame-o.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another warm chuckle tickles his ear, and then Billy tucks his face to Steve’s neck. He’s being forward again, and Steve flinches to wrap himself around Billy. To keep him near. It’s so refreshing to know Billy isn’t afraid to touch him. Maybe it’s the phone calls. Maybe they’d been enough to pry Billy’s morals loose and leave them in the dust. Billy never truly hesitated on the phone. Even that first time on Steve’s birthday, Billy was the one to excuse himself from his store and slip into the back room for some privacy. Steve sighs with his arms threaded around the older man’s neck and turns his head to kiss whatever part of Billy in reach. The shell of his ear, it turns out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing in Steve’s neck, Billy kisses that delicate column one more time before pulling back to say, “Next time, buddy. You can touch whatever you want next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve forgets all about his sadness and the minor irritation of Billy tickling him. He beams big eyes and a bigger smile up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm. Promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy slips back down the few inches he needs to take Steve’s smiling lips in a kiss. Steve bobs his head and gives plenty of wiggles and eager whines. Billy denies him more when they separate, grins softly when Steve tries to steal another kiss. So Steve smacks his head into the pillow under him and just aims his own eager smile up at Billy. Two can play at that game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what I wanna do to you,” he confesses like it’s a secret he’s not supposed to tell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shapely eyebrows flick up once—as a suggestion or surprise, Steve isn’t sure—and Billy murmurs quietly, “Oh yea? You gonna tell me or…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could make Billy wait. But then again… Steve is still too gun-shy to play it loose like that. He can’t risk Billy rejecting him or telling him no. Recalling Billy sweeping him right off his lap after Christmas still sends Steve’s stomach dropping, and not in a good way. It would hurt too much, make him take about five steps back to avoid it happening again. And he doesn’t want to step back with Billy. Only forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Bottom lip in his teeth, Steve darts glances between Billy’s waiting eyes and the neat line of his moustache. Steve’s upper lip is definitely a little raw now. “I wanna give you a blowjob.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He recalls crisp in that moment the first time he’d whimpered that to Billy on the phone. Chest down with his ass in the air, fingers playing just inside him. Mewling about how much he wanted Billy’s dick. To blow him. And Billy gave that purring, amused laugh he does and asked who taught Steve to talk like that. Frozen on his bed with his fingers still sunk in him, Steve admitted to hearing Carol say as much to Tommy. And then he watched when they didn’t know he could see and hear everything. And that yea it looked hot from Tommy’s point of view. Steve admitted even softer that what he really wanted was Carol’s view. He wanted to know what that felt like. To take something in his mouth and let it use him. He came like that, wailing Billy’s name so soon into their call. Billy made sure he got another two before they reluctantly hung up.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smugness seeps back into Billy’s lips when he drawls, “A blowjob, huh? That’s ambitious of you.” And then an eyebrow cocks up. “Unless you were practicing on your little boyfriend, what’s his name, Tommy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s face fills up with all sorts of red. A pink flush at first at the memory of practicing on something—a popsicle sure. But then scarlet for the indignation that he would have feelings for someone else. ‘Boyfriend.’ And then sunburned at the implication that Steve would want to have sex with someone other than Billy. It’s not funny at all, and he turns his head away. Tries to wiggle free and curl up by himself, but Billy on top of him doesn’t budge. Careful fingertips nudge Steve’s head back around. Even when Steve fights it, Billy just takes him up his chin to direct him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean it like that. Like you two are funny together, that was mean. I know you’re not fooling around with your buddy.” A sigh, because that’s certainly not good enough for what he’s just said, and Billy levels a look at him. “I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not quite sweet on him yet, Steve mumbles, “I just wanna do it, cuz it’s you. You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy flicks his head back with a groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kiddo, I’m sorry, okay? I mean it, that was a messed up thing to say. Come on, can I make it up to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve has his face turned away when Billy kisses his cheek. One or twice, and then to the corner of his lips trying not to smile. Steve knows he’ll give in, suspects he wants kisses more than Billy wants to give or receive them. But Steve will indulge himself this one and swipes at Billy’s upper lip when they part to hear a tiny grunt huff out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want burgers for dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mood lifts then, and Billy smiles down on him nice and easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pretends to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And ice cream..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy snorts and shakes his head above Steve’s eager smile he tries to hide under his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, </span>
  <b>now</b>
  <span> you’re hungry? What happened to that nap we were gonna take?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pft, I didn’t say I was hungry right now. I just want burgers and ice cream when we eat.” He huffs again and tugs at Billy’s shoulders hanging above his. “I wanna nap with you right now. You’re gonna stay, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely, kiddo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A rough hand smoothes Steve’s bangs out of his eyes so that Billy can kiss his forehead. The fancy face wash Mom brings back from Chicago keeps his skin clear. Thank Christ he’s not broken out from his hair touching his forehead. He’s not broken out anywhere, what luck. It’s bad enough Billy is going to wake up to Steve’s morning wood every damn day. At least one aspect of his gangly, gross body works out in his favor. These things are all beyond Billy’s knowing even as he kisses Steve’s forehead a few more times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s sleep, then. Sooner we get up, the sooner we can walk to this little shack a few blocks down that does great burgers. Gonna have to walk a little farther for ice cream, though.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the last of the sex until uhhhh chapterrrrr eight. We need some =3c drama in this cake batter of love. Gotta give it a little kick. Anyway, make sure you fucking obliterate that comment button down there. Kamehameha that shit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not that far of a walk to dinner or ice cream after. And with the day fading in the east, clinging in the west, it’s not miserable outside. They’re close enough to the ocean to benefit from the breeze rolling off the blue-green water. The burger place is down a few blocks like Billy had said. This neighborhood doesn’t look anything like home. Houses small and sort of slumped with their front yards are cordoned off with chain link fences. People sit on their porches and kids play in the street. Someone shouts, “Car,” and everyone scrambles to abandon their makeshift baseball diamond. Steve wants to poke around and explore, so Billy has to keep a hand on him while they walk. It’s nice, that big paw between his shoulder blades. Steve only wishes they could hold hands instead, despite how his palm is sweaty from nothing.</p><p>Unlike the hole-in-the-wall burger place where they’d stood under umbrellas to eat, the ice cream shop has an actual inside. And the AC is a blessing. Working in a place like this has to be fun, right? Beating the heat, all the ice cream you could sneak. Judging by the sour teenagers manning the place, looking as slumped and melted as the houses baking in the sun outside, Steve thinks maybe that’s not the case. And those sailor uniforms, yikes. Steve stands quietly just behind Billy and to his right and watches the person scooping ice cream tug at their collar no less than five times. The other teenager at the register pops their gum at Billy while holding their hand out for money.</p><p>Steve is plenty relieved when Billy steers him away from the sullen teens slinging dairy to a table squeezed around the corner from the register. They can see outside; the two employees can’t see them. Happy to take the chair with its back to the wall, Steve wiggles on the leather-wrapped cushion and eyes the single scoop of vanilla Billy had ordered for himself. In a cup. It’s nothing compared to the sugar cone clutched in Steve’s hands, two scoops stuffed into the shell and then piling high above the rim.</p><p>“Don’t like ice cream, Uncle Billy? What gives?”</p><p>Elbows in the table as he picks at the scoop more than he eats it, Billy shrugs.</p><p>“Not really a sweets guy.”</p><p>Steve already has blue smeared on his lips when he asks, “Cuz you work out?”</p><p>“Nah, that’s not it.” Billy shrugs again. “Just don’t like ‘em. Makes my teeth and stomach hurt after I eat them. Vanilla is okay, though.”</p><p>“Pft, as if. It’s so boring.”</p><p>An eyebrow flicks up at him.</p><p>“You’re not gonna be able to even taste that about halfway through. At least I’ll enjoy mine.”</p><p>Steve just huffs and goes about licking the edge of the scoop where it’s already going soft and sort of melty. Not dripping yet, but if they were outside, it would be in no time. He has this whole scoop of cotton candy to eat and then something cinnamon sugar on the bottom. His parents would scold him about it—too many sweets, not enough ‘real’ food, spending Billy’s money—but they couldn’t hope to pry it away from him. Especially not when he looks up after a particularly long lap to find Billy staring at him. </p><p>No surprise or shock pulls his features back or blows his eyes wide. The crosshairs of those blues are intense in their focus on whatever Steve’s mouth does. Suave and cool, but intense. Steve pauses with his lips skating over the frosty treat and worries maybe he has blue smeared all over himself. Or maybe he’s dripped some on his clothes. Billy blinks after a breath or two, sniffs, and then turns his eyes back to the half-eaten scoop in his cup. Steve still blinks his way as heat creeps like waves lapping up a beach. He thinks maybe he knows why Billy stared at him so hard just now.</p><p>It’s a struggle to prop up his voice and not let it break when he says softly, mindful of the employees nearby, “Thanks for the ice cream, Uncle Billy.”</p><p>He times it just right, waiting for wild eyes to flick back up to him. Steve is ready for Billy with his own heady stare. Steve draws the flat of his tongue over melty ice cream, his mouth hanging open just enough to tempt. To suggest. Because he knows why Billy had been staring. He was watching Steve lick his damn ice cream all over, darting to stop a dribble or two from running down his hand where the melting is in full force. That and Steve’s cherry lips mouthing over the curve of the scoop he’s still trying to flatten it with each lick. Steve squirms a little in his chair as he keeps his eyes on Billy, cocks his head just so, and bites off a sliver of the cone. The crunching is terribly loud in Steve’s blushing ears, but he knows he has Billy’s attention.</p><p>Like he’d never paused to give Billy that obscene display, Steve swallows and says just as softly, “It’s really good.”</p><p>A crack of something brittle buckling startles them. A bright snap that’s high-pitched but muted. Steve whips his head around, thinking something had bent or broken above them. When he glances back to Billy, he finds calm trying to hide something. Billy’s face is too schooled, too focused on Steve again like before. So Steve glances all over Billy, even leans up on a thigh to look around Billy, but doesn’t find anything until he’s fully seated again. In Billy’s left hand, ring scuffed to hell around his middle finger, he’d snapped the plastic spoon into two pieces. </p><p>Heart and stomach waring for which will rise higher in his throat, Steve throws a wild look right into Billy’s eyes. They meet long enough to send Steve shivering. And not because of the AC in here. Billy inhales deeply through his nose, says nothing, and then looks down at his hand. Steve worries for a moment, craning forward on his ass, that maybe Billy has cut himself. But the two ends of the spoon, broken right where the neck widens into the bowl, just flip out of his hand like nothing. Steve bottles a whine behind his ice cream, not interested in wasting the time to eat it now.</p><p>“Uncle Billy…”</p><p>He doesn’t mean for that to come out as a needy whine. At least he’s getting better and not letting his voice go high and screechy when he does it. Sounding like a little kid around Billy is a nightmare he’d like to never live. </p><p>Blue eyes flash to him once more, and then Billy’s rumbling reply, “Your ice cream is melting.”</p><p>It’s trying to breach the banks of the cone and dribble down the side. Steve darts forward without thinking about it, little tongue lapping the trail all the way back to the rim of the cone. Across from him, Billy inhales sharply this time. Steve freezes with the tip of his tongue poking out, about to lap another trickle of blue cream back to the source. Throat working through a few swallows, Billy shakes himself a little and then regards Steve heavily over the table. Steve’s tongue zips back into his mouth like a pull cord.</p><p>A nod to said melting mess.</p><p>“Finish that up so we can leave.”</p><p>Oh. Someone plucks the string strung taut in his belly. That someone is Billy with his words barely making it past the husk of his vocal cords. He’s never sounded so deep and dangerous before. Only when Billy calls him ‘good boy’ on the phone does Steve’s stomach drop right down to the floor. The power that voice has over him is electrifying, and Steve almost knocks the table over with his hip when he rockets to his feet.</p><p>“I-I can eat it on the walk back! Let’s go now, right now!”</p><p>His enthusiasm is probably unbecoming. Immature. Not quite childish, and so Steve doesn’t let that stop him from grabbing one of Billy’s wrists and tugging him up, too. He doesn’t want to let go when Billy rises to his feet, but Steve knows he must. Amber eyes shoot so much want and need up at Billy. The message must be clear enough, because Billy nods his head towards the ice cream shop’s front door. Billy only lingers long enough to throw his trash away. Steve is about to vibrate apart where he waits at the door, leg jiggling. He almost takes off down the street like a shot when they finally spill onto the sidewalk and summer heat again. But Billy snatches the back of his t-shirt and stops him in his tracks. </p><p>“You don’t know where you’re going, so cool your jets.”</p><p>“Walk faster!” Steve sasses back over his shoulder.</p><p>He’s still nursing the damn ice cream cone, is finally to the second scoop and nibbling away at the cone. Not that he truly wants to eat it anymore.</p><p>If possible, Billy walks slower with his thumbs hooked in his pockets. He tips his head up to let his voice carry on the breeze.</p><p>“Sounds like you need another nap. You’re getting awfully cranky.”</p><p>Steve glares as best he can and comes to a stomping halt at the end of the block.</p><p>“As if,” he grumbles when Billy walks past him, now leading the way. “It’s not my fault you’re walking slower than my grandpa.”</p><p>“Oh, is Charles still alive? Heh, fuck he hated me.”</p><p>That gets Steve perking up and trotting to Billy’s side. There’s no one coming towards them, so Steve takes up the empty space to Billy’s right. </p><p>“Papa Charlie? Why does he hate you?”</p><p>Billy shrugs without looking at him.</p><p>“Thought I was a bad influence on your dad. I was the one who convinced Bobby to join my fraternity over the one his daddy was in.” A mean grin breaks over Billy’s face. But he snuffs it out just as quickly with a bitter purse of his lips. “He’s probably a big reason why me and your dad grew apart. Bobby had big responsibilities and expectations on his shoulders. The Harrington shoulders.”</p><p>Now Billy spares Steve a brief glance as Steve hops along every couple of strides. They pause at another block, no cars around. Billy stops, so Steve stops. He blinks up at Billy and watches the wind play with his hair. It’s not loose like when Billy sleeps. Hell, it hadn’t even been loose for their nap and their little bit of play. Billy keeps it all bundled at the base of his neck. More relaxed than when he comes around for Christmas. Steve sees it, now, how relaxed Billy is. How his face is softer than Steve is used to. More open. Billy stares at him like he hasn’t seen Steve in a long time and has to get to know him all over again.</p><p>“I think at one point, back during Christmas, you said something about your parents wanting to make you just like them.”</p><p>That’s all a blur thanks to them kissing and making something between them, but Steve nods anyway. Sounds like something he’d say about his parents. </p><p>Billy hums and then steps closer. They can’t be too close. But the familiarity about them lends them some mercy from prying eyes. It would only take Billy smiling all charming and devilish like, explaining to some nosy busybody that Steve is his nephew, and they’d be none the wiser. So Steve tips his head up to meet that heavy gaze aimed his way. Not heavy like in the ice cream shop. But considering him. Curiosity and some sadness. Steve wants to touch the edges of the latter, discover the source, but Billy wipes it all away with a tug of a smile.</p><p>“You’ll never be like them, Stevie. Especially not your dad.” Billy lifts a hand and rests it on Steve’s shoulder. His thumb is close enough to flick out and graze the base of Steve’s throat. He sort of nudges Steve closer, says just to them, “You’re nothing like Bobby.”</p><p>A wild shiver runs through Steve despite the sun and the heat. It’s all because of Billy so close and yet so far away. Steve’s hand not about to crush the sugar cone he’s holding trembles a bit when it lifts up. Long fingers tangle in the hem of Billy’s shirt and dare to give it a tug. The public nature of the street makes him bold. But not too bold.</p><p>“Uncle Billy,” he almost whines. “I wanna go back to your apartment…”</p><p>His reasons are obvious. Still, Billy hums down at him and gently nudges Steve’s hand away from his shirt when he takes a step back.</p><p>“Sorry, what was that last part? I don’t think I caught it.”</p><p>Flushing hot down to his neck, Steve swallows his embarrassing sound and says, “Please can we go back to your apartment now?”</p><p>One day he’ll remember his manners with Billy. It’s something Billy has always been on him about, even before all this. Billy pretty much lets him say anything, even if he gripes about foul language. But Billy doesn’t have much tolerance for rudeness. Steve wonders if there’s a story behind the scenes somewhere. Just under the floorboards. </p><p>Steve keeps his manners in mind when Billy’s front door spills open with a cloud of AC ghosting across their faces. Their shoes don’t go past the little rug at the front door, and they almost brush while they kick their feet free. Steve has about half the cone left in his hands, but he just wants to throw it away and get to it. He tries to make a dash for the kitchen, but Billy snatching his free wrist gives him whiplash as he jerks in the older man’s hold.</p><p>“Cool your jets, baby boy,” Billy warns with a look down at him. Steve gives a tug on Billy’s hand, but his grip is absolute. When Steve is calm again, Billy goes on, “You gonna listen to me if I let us do this? I remember what you want, and I’ll give it to you. But I need you to listen to me and do as I say, get me?”</p><p>Steve’s head flops up and down with a screw loose somewhere. He wants, wants, wants.</p><p>Billy hums, takes in the way Steve shivers even shielded from the AC, and murmurs, “Are you listening?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Billy nods to the mess in Steve’s hand.</p><p>“You’re gonna stand here, facing the TV, until I tell you to move. And when I say you can, you’re gonna go into the kitchen, throw that away, wash your hands, and come to me. And I mean it about washing your hands. With soap, boy, do not be cheeky with me.”</p><p>“I won’t! I won’t!” He almost whines. Somehow, his tenor holds. “I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll do whatever you say, Uncle Billy.”</p><p>Already Steve’s insides wind up tight and make him ache. He’s probably been half-hard the entire walk back. The desire to glance down and away from Billy, to see if he’s hard, strikes Steve like a punch to his chest. But he won’t, doesn’t want Billy to call him greedy again. Because that’d stung a little. He’ll do better this time, and he’ll be the one to make Billy come. </p><p>“Please,” he breathes, not even sure if he actually says it aloud.</p><p>Billy squeezes his wrist for a second and then lets him go. A nudge to his arm directs him where Billy wants him. Steve stands on the matted strip of carpet running between the entertainment system and the coffee table. Billy sits right behind him on the couch so Steve can’t even steal a peek in the reflection of the grey glass. Steve is left to clutch the bottom of the cone he wants to get rid of as the springs in Billy’s couch protest movement. Shuffling.</p><p>The twinkle of Billy’s belt falling open and the crunch of his zipper send shivers through Steve. Oh, how badly he wants to peek over his shoulder. But he’s not allowed to, and so clutches his hands and trash in front of him to resist temptation. If he closes his eyes and grasps his hands, then he won’t disobey Billy. It makes sense to him somehow, self-restraint in physical form, and so he floats in the sounds of his love behind him. The heaviness of Billy’s breaths. The wet gathering of saliva between his lips before he spits. Steve jumps at that wet smack and can’t quite keep a lid on his whine. Some of it squeaks out of him, but he doesn’t move or peek. </p><p>A heavy sigh with an edge of Billy’s voice in it precedes, “All right, go wash your hands.”</p><p>Steve almost forgets to blurt, “Yes, Uncle Billy,” in his haste to obey.</p><p>He almost looks, too, but slaps his free hand up to block his eyes. A few huffs from Billy on the couch tickle him. Amusement. He’s just doing what he thinks Billy would want! It would be cheating in some way if Steve looks. Why else would Billy have him face away? Steve may not be smart, but he’s not an idiot. At least washing his hands naturally puts his back to Billy. Ice cream disposed of, Steve uses soap as he was told, but he makes fast work of it. He can’t help it; not seeing what Billy is doing drives him crazy! Wiping his hands on his jeans instead of a towel, Steve doesn’t even make it past the fridge before the sight of Billy stops him in his tracks.</p><p>This moment has been a repeat visit in his fantasies so many times. The first time he would see Billy’s cock. So many nights before falling asleep have been dedicated to how big it is, if he’s cut or not, is he a grower or a shower. Steve can answer some of those questions now while he stares unabashedly at Billy’s left hand stroking himself. The right remains on his thigh, fingers sort of gripping the seam of his jeans as he strokes. Steve knows exactly where he wants to be, wants to fall under that hand and let it drag his mouth up to blushing flesh. He wants to brush his lips and tongue across Billy’s head to feel how hot it is and to lap up the shiny precome there. Steve is used to the taste of himself. He wonders what Billy tastes like.</p><p>Steve doesn’t feel his legs move when Billy beckons him with a jerk of his head. Billy must have been touching himself the moment Steve had given his back. Getting hard and ready for what Steve wants to do. What he wants Billy to do to him. He recalls freshly watching Carol walk up to Tommy as he does to Billy now. Body relaxed and hips swaying. Steve wobbles a bit on socked feet when he lowers himself to his knees between Billy’s splayed thighs. It’s a tight squeeze between the couch and the coffee table. Billy does him the favor of hiking up a foot to scoot the table away. He leaves that leg there. Caging Steve in some.</p><p>Hands sort of gripping the edge of the couch, Steve licks his lips. He’s all eyes on Billy’s fist dragging up and down, angling the dark, wet head at him. Heavy in his mouth, Steve’s tongue wants to be the thing that swipes up another bead of sticky fluid. Not Billy’s thumb, although he’ll lick it off that too. Or would if Billy just gives him a damn sign already. Steve suspects, squirming on his ass pressed to his calves, that he knows what Billy wants. Channeling Carol again, Steve keeps his head down while lifting his eyes to Billy’s.</p><p>Billy’s hum is deeply pleased when Steve finally looks up at him. The foot hiked onto the coffee table to Steve’s right drops down only long enough to help Billy scoot to the edge of the couch. Once he’s closer to Steve, Steve properly caught between powerful thighs, Billy wedges his foot on the table again. Steve wants to lean in and nuzzle the tension in his thigh. But there are better games to play, and Steve flicks hopeful looks up at bright blues between staring with hunger at his cock. The ache between Steve’s legs doesn’t even matter to him anymore. He just wants his mouth full.</p><p>“Scoot closer until you’re touching the couch,” Billy orders him.</p><p>When Steve obeys, Billy’s right hand stirs to life. He says nothing when his thick fingers dive into Steve’s hair to pet him. They twist up in a few locks and gently urge him forward and then down.</p><p>Steve shakes in his hold, and Billy murmurs, “I’m not gonna hurt you, baby.”</p><p>“I-I know.” Steve has to swallow or risk making a drooling fool out of himself. The smell of Billy’s body is heat on Steve’s cheeks as he breathes it in. Just the salt sweat of a healthy person and the manly musk of him. Steve shivers hard in Billy’s grip on his hair and whispers, “I’m not afraid. I just want you so bad.”</p><p>“You practice this too?”</p><p>Steve gives a tiny nod in Billy’s hand. </p><p>“On um popsicles usually.”</p><p>Tension in Steve’s hair asks him to curl that much closer to Billy’s body. His left hand is even lazier in its strokes, now. Content to hold his cock behind the head. Clearly guiding it to where they both want it. Steve thinks he’ll lick his lips raw before they ever get to that point.</p><p>“You ever scrape your teeth on them?”</p><p>“No,” Steve promises. “I know what to do, I-I won’t mess up, promise.” He wiggles on his knees and dares to try and dip his head sooner than Billy allows. So Steve tugs on his own scalp in his struggle. “Please, Billy, I want your cock in my mouth, need it so bad, please…”</p><p>A purring groan above him and then thickly, “Fuck, baby boy, that’s what I wanna hear. Such good manners.”</p><p>Steve drinks in that praise and steadies his breaths above his prize. Billy’s palm is warm cupping the back of his head while controlling his movements. No pain from his scalp anymore, just firm guidance. Cherry lips smile at the first brush of blood-hot skin against them. Steve does this plenty when he practices—just runs the frozen end of the treat over his lips. It’s the sensation of it, of someone teasing him before they thrust inside him, that turns him on. Steve parts his lips a little at a time until a gap big enough forms for his tongue. Billy changes the angle of his head some, and Steve’s hair falls away. Exposing his pretty mouth and what it’s doing.</p><p>“Don’t stop.”</p><p>A little nod, a lick of his lips, and then Steve continues. Billy moves Steve by his hair but also keeps smearing the head of his prick over Steve’s lips. He changes it only to toy with the soft gap between them. Steve lets loose a broken noise, needing Billy to go faster, and relaxes the clench of his jaw. He has to relax to take something thick past his teeth, has to make sure to curl his lips over those blunt edges. Billy breathes hard with him when the perfect O of Steve’s mouth seals over the tip of him and sucks lightly.</p><p>Steve brushes the flat of his tongue over slippery bitterness. It doesn’t taste good. He just needs to lap it up anyway. Skin slick between them, Steve leans his head forward. Billy’s grip follows him. Encouraging him. Steve doesn’t need any encouragement to bob his lips on just the tip. He’s wanted to do this forever and gives Billy pretty moans when more wetness drips on his tongue. It can’t last, though, and Billy’s fingers in his hair tighten to pull him off. Steve separates from all that heat with a gasp popping out of him. Immediately, big, wet eyes plead up at Billy.</p><p>“No, no, don’t stop, please don’t, it felt so good!”</p><p>“You like it?”</p><p>Steve nods wildly in Billy’s hand, pain lighting up at his scalp.</p><p>“I wanna keep going, Uncle Billy. Please don’t stop.”</p><p>Steve manages to keep his eyes open for his first, muffled moan. They roll back, though, when the crown of Billy’s head teases his lips. He wants that pop, wants to shove his mouth past the point of no return, wants to feel the ache in his jaw of Billy filling his mouth. Billy keeps his length steady for the slow slide of Steve’s mouth down. He has enough space in the back of his mouth to moan as Billy starts to fill him up. Wider and wider Steve must drop his jaw to accommodate the thick cock on his tongue. He’s overly stuffed, the corners of his mouth stretched as far as they’ll go. He squirms in Billy’s hand while trying to bob his mouth back and forth. It only takes one brush of Steve’s soft palate to make him panic.  </p><p>Billy must know or sense the tension that seizes him. Billy is the one to urge Steve’s head back while also pulling his dick out. Luckily for Steve’s pride, he doesn’t cough, just pants to catch his breath. Ah, it’d felt good up until that moment of uncertainty. At least now he knows what it feels like; maybe he won’t freak out again. Licking his lips, Steve tugs against Billy’s fingers in his hair. Let me down. Billy delays long enough to hum and stroke himself a few times. When fresh precome beads out of him, he guides them back together, but not inside Steve.</p><p>“Get me good at wet, baby boy, and I’ll let you try again.”</p><p>It must mean Billy wants him. It would be easy to just jerk off if he only wants to come. He doesn’t need Steve for that. So Steve nods and already slips his tongue out to do as Billy says. Not unlike the ice cream he’d taunted Billy with, Steve makes a beautiful show of lapping at his head with broad strokes. Billy’s breath hitches and hisses when Steve flicks over the underside where his foreskin connects. Steve has never seen an uncut dick in real life, only in magazines. It’d felt right in his mouth, though, and Steve wants that again. Billy is still nice and hard thanks to his stroking hand when he angles himself back though Steve’s plush lips. Steve groans until he can’t anymore, because Billy fills him up to the very top of his throat.</p><p>Big. Too big for him to take a bit more than half. He peeks an eye open to check, finds Billy pinching the base of himself in a vice. Steve gives an enthusiastic wiggle. He hopes Billy squeezes himself like that to stop from coming so soon. So Steve bobs his head as much as Billy’s control him allows. Being good for Billy is all Steve wants right now, and so he challenges his stomach to stop flipping every time Billy brushes the back of his throat. Billy holds him there this time, just enough room to breathe through his nose. Until that blunt head pushes forward.</p><p>Steve’s hands fly up to grab something. Anything as his heart leaps into his throat with fright. He always chokes when he tries to do this at home, and now is no different. Just like the last time, though, Billy anticipates his struggle. Billy pulls him off and up so he can breathe through the buzzing opening between his lips. He could just cry from failure. Won’t, but could. Billy is just too big for him, or the experience too new for him to do it right. Still, Steve aims sorrowful eyes up at Billy with a pout already sticking out.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he pleads, “I’m trying, I promise. I can do it, I—”  </p><p>“Hey, hey, cool it, little man!” Billy coos to him. His hand in Steve’s hair comes slipping around to cup his jaw instead, thumb comforting under Steve’s pitiful stare. “You were doing great, honest. I was about to come but didn’t wanna hurt you.”</p><p>Steve perks up in Billy’s palm, throws a lewd glance down to find that yea, he looks ready to pop. Dick straining, skin dark with blood, and his balls drawn up. Steve pants through licking his lips and then gives his attention back to Billy.</p><p>“I want you to, you-you can come in my mouth, it’s fine.”</p><p>Billy’s smirk is the smug sort. When he knows something Steve doesn’t.</p><p>“I’ll take you up on that, but I need you to do as I say again, okay?”</p><p>Another wild nod, Billy squeezes his jaw, and then those thick fingers take control in his hair again.</p><p>“Stick your tongue out for me, baby boy, and let me see inside you.”</p><p>Like he’s seen in magazines. Steve knows the pose exactly, thinks about himself on his knees just like this for Billy all the time. Billy shudders above him when he does it, dropping his jaw with his tongue gentle over his bottom teeth. The pink inside him that Billy had filled is all for him to see. Steve keeps his eyes open long enough to watch Billy’s left hand stroke down again, holding himself behind the head again. He gives Steve a repeat of earlier, tracing Steve’s upper lip with his wet head. Steve dares to lap at him a few times, but an impatient grunt from Billy stops that. Billy is in full control of both of them when he starts to pump himself.</p><p>“Keep that little tongue out,” he pants. “And your mouth open. You-nnng, you gonna be my good boy and swallow?”</p><p>Steve groans with his mouth open and fights his eyes rolling back. He’s grown to love Billy talking to him like this. It’s much more real without static lowering the quality. The shivers Billy’s voice gives him are that much more intense, too. Billy’s grip on him doesn’t afford him the luxury of a nod, so Steve just forces his jaw open wider. It will hurt after this anyway. He’ll feel the phantom weight of Billy in his mouth the rest of the night.</p><p>Eyes closed to the color creeping into Billy’s face as he’s about to come, Steve just revels in the sound of his lover panting away. Swears and Steve’s name mixed in, a few ‘babys’ to soften the foul language. Steve already breathes through his nose at the first spatter on his tongue. He whines with the next that splashes thick and warm on his tongue and then moans when Billy shouts. His deep voice bounces off the ceiling and walls until Steve’s ears are full, over and over again that thunderclap of a, ‘Fuck!’</p><p>“Holy shit,” Billy pants above him when he gets his breath back. Steve cracks an eye open to watch Billy’s tight fingers squeeze out every drop. His eye just as quickly slams back shut. “Jesus, Stevie, haven’t come so hard like that in a while. Be good now and swallow for me.”</p><p>How awful the taste is, but he’s used to it to a degree. He’d wanted to know what it felt like to have someone come on his face, and well… He’s rather limber for a 17-year-old boy. It’s easy enough to roll onto his shoulders with his cock pointed down at his face and take a load. So he’s used to getting it in his mouth and swallowing. All of it for Billy, to be good for him. So Steve only grimaces through swallowing and then makes a dramatic face while sticking his tongue out. </p><p>Billy tugs him by his hair close enough to kiss his forehead and murmur, “Go rinse your mouth out. But come right back, you hear me?”</p><p>He grunts through a nod, and then Billy lets him go. Steve’s scalp is all tingly where Billy had yanked on his hair. It’s a good sort of ache, like the tremble in his thighs after riding his pillow. A deep ache that will make him stumble but stroke the flames of his desire in the future. He stumbles as he rises for the bathroom. Billy has a bottle of mouthwash sitting right on the sink. Now Steve thinks he understands why Billy’s breath always smells good. Between the gum and mouthwash…</p><p>Steve finally catches a look at himself in the mirror when he spits a few times into the sink. Color lingers in him everywhere, although it has begun to drain from his ears and forehead. His cheeks, chin, and throat are all still thoroughly pink. Slim fingers tremble when they reach up for his puffy lips. A whimper twists out of him when he touches them with careful fingertips. Oh, and the hinge of his jaw grinds like he’d slept on it wrong. His lips and the inside of his mouth are tingly from friction, him bobbing his head over and over again with velvety flesh heavy on his tongue. All parting reminders from Billy of what they did. Steve has to grip the edges of the sink as his belly bucks and his thighs snap together. Maybe Billy will touch him if he wanders back into the living room hard like this…</p><p>Billy has set his clothes to rights and watches TV when Steve emerges. Blue eyes are on him in a second, and Billy mutes whatever channel he’s on.</p><p>“You okay? You were in there a while.”</p><p>Hand rubbing the back of his neck, Steve nods and sort of wiggles on his toes. Nervous and bashful, afraid to be told no.</p><p>“Uncle Billy…”</p><p>“Stevie?”</p><p>Steve quickly drops his bashful act and hand from his neck to explain, “N-no, I’m fine, really. I was just thinking a lot.”</p><p>Billy is still sat forward from his alarm. At least he doesn’t look like he’s going to stand and step over the damn coffee table to reach Steve. Steve craves that closeness more than he can say and so weaves his long legs around the recliner and then through the narrow gap between the couch and coffee table. Steve helps himself to Billy’s left side and cuddles right up. Billy’s arm is around him with barely any hesitation, squeezing him tightly.</p><p>“What were you thinkin’ about in that pretty head of yours?”</p><p>He’s almost in Billy’s lap, his hip sort of resting on Billy’s thigh. Steve wants to crawl the rest of the way but won’t help himself. He can’t have the day after Christmas happen again—Billy’s swift rejection.</p><p>Cuddling into the ball of Billy’s shoulder, Steve confesses, “I was thinking about sitting in your lap and you touching me like that, from behind. I’m hard.”</p><p>Steve reaches a hand down to squeeze himself through his jeans and underwear. Billy groans slightly above him, surely watching him.</p><p>“Think I can make that happen,” Billy grunts.</p><p>It’s the only warning he gives Steve before big hands scoop him under his arms and drag him properly into Billy’s lap. Sitting square on his soft cock already tucked back into his jeans. Distantly, Steve wishes Billy were hard again. But those hands flicking up the hem of his shirt to slip under distract him from his slight disappointment. They ghost calluses and warmth up Steve’s belly and chest to his nipples. Chest and back arched, Steve leans his weight into Billy behind him with fingers and thumbs toying with him. They flick and pinch him to make him shudder, to make him whimper. </p><p>His own nails scrambling at Billy’s thighs, Steve begs, “More!”</p><p>“Put your feet up on the coffee table.”</p><p>Steve does that while Billy’s hands drop away from his chest to tug at the button and zip of his jeans. Billy doesn’t shove them too far down Steve’s hips to slip is left hand under elastic and spring Steve free. He’s already fully hard and wet at the tip. Billy does that to him, makes him wet so fast and ready to come instantly. Despite all the times Steve had denied himself orgasm in preparation for this exact thing. Billy curls rough fingers around him and jerks him off to timed pinches of a nipple. Steve sees stars before he knows what’s hit him.</p><p>His orgasm hasn’t calmed down when wet fingers pet at his lips. Steve doesn’t know what anything is, just opens his mouth to suck and lick Billy clean. He’ll need another round of mouthwash. Billy must not agree, because he takes Steve by the jaw and wrenches him around for filthy, sloppy kisses. More tongue than anything, but Steve wiggles and whines for it all the same. His tongue hangs out of his mouth with a loud groan when Billy urges him back. His fingers are almost too tight where they control Steve.</p><p>“You’re so pretty when you come, baby boy,” Billy sighs in his hair. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of watching you come.”</p><p>“Mmm, I love you, Uncle Billy.” Steve cuddles into Billy’s lap and chest as best he can. He hums, head lulled back, when Billy slips an arm around him. Lips mouth kisses to his neck next, and Steve repeats like a prayer, “I love you.”</p><p>Billy sinks his teeth into Steve at the end of the next kiss, not quite leaving a mark, and murmurs in his ear, “I love you too, Stevie. Very much.”</p><p>Steve reaches down to tuck himself back into his clothes before anything gets awkward. Then, despite his limbs shaking like he’s traipsed through the woods back home, Steve wiggles around to sit more comfortably in Billy’s lap. Legs hooked over Billy’s right thigh and then sticking out down the couch, Steve tucks himself to Billy’s shoulder. Leaning side-saddle like this doesn’t trap Billy under him. If Steve falls asleep or if Billy wants to move him, it’s a simple matter of picking him up behind his back and under his knees. Plus, Steve doesn’t care about what’s on TV. He’d rather just sit here with Billy and enjoy being close to him. He’s tired enough to not mind the boredom that would usually send his skin crawling. Cradled like this with Billy’s arms looped around his hips, Steve drifts off without a care.</p><p>He awakens in the sway of Billy’s arms as the older man carries him to bed. Steve doesn’t stay awake to help undress himself. Asleep once more by the time Billy’s arms hold him in darkness, Steve puts this first day behind him with a smile and sweet dreams.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Big fuckin update today! Second longest chapter lol. This could have been two chapters, but it makes more sense crammed into one, big chapter. You'll see. Oh Billy. OH STEVE. Talk about fumbling around. Some drama, some sex, even more drama. These poor idiots. I'll remind y'all that Steve is 17: young, dumb, wants to be full of cum lol. Mood swings and jumping to conclusions. Keep that in mind. Billy's just an idiot. Remember to tell me in the comments how =3c irritating miscommunication is.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Well, hello there, you PYT!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve glances up from t-shirts hanging on a rack and the price gun in his hand. Billy’s helper for the summer couldn’t make it, so it’s just the two of them in the gift shop. There aren’t many customers this early in the day, and what customers there are ignore him. Not this one, though. </span>
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  <span>“… Sorry, can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taller than him, taller than Billy for that matter, this thin, reed of a person occupies more space with his personality than his body. Steve would guess by the wrinkles around his eyes and his laugh lines that he’s Billy’s age. But he dresses and talks like someone closer to Steve’s. White shoes and outfit to match his frosted hair, it contrasts loudly with his dark brown skin. He’s striking to behold with his haughty smile edging into something annoyed. Steve knows a magnet for drama when he sees one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flicking sunglasses down his nose, the man looks down at him and purrs, “Little boy, do me a favor and tell me where your boss is.” Dark, rich eyes pin him down, and not in a nice sort of way. “I’m an old friend, you see? Tell him Johnny is here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just blinks up at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you talking about my Uncle Billy? He’s on the phone right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Johnny’s’ expression cools considerably. Steve begins to think whatever ‘PYT’ means is a bad thing. This person doesn’t seem too nice or patient. Best get Billy and make him go away. When Steve pokes his head in the back office, Billy is already off the phone and nursing a cigarette. He perks up when he catches sight of Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s up, little man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s some weird guy named Johnny asking for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy pinches his cigarette and asks, “Tall black guy with a gay lisp?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Color blooms in Steve’s face, awkward for so many reasons, but he nods anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cigarette held aloft, Billy considers Steve with his lips rolled flat. Concerned but also curious. Sighing, Billy stabs the cigarette only half burned and then rises from the rickety desk chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Known him for a long time. He’s a character, isn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” Steve grumbles, not too hot on him. “What does ‘PYT’ mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Pretty young thing.’ Think it comes from a Michael Jackson song. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve frowns and hums, not sure what to make of that. It should have come across as a compliment, but Steve’s gut tells him otherwise. Regardless, Steve schools his expression when they spill back into the store and Johnny catches Billy immediately,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No reason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy quickly slips his wallet out of his back pocket, grabs a ten, and then hands it to Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, why don’t you go bum around the boardwalk, maybe go to that funhouse thing that opened up on the pier. Go wild.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy sending him away is pain on top of his uncertainty. They combine into irritation. So Steve snatches the money out of Billy’s hand and sulks as he stomps away. If Billy says anything to his back or watches him go, Steve doesn’t notice. He’s too interested in getting away from Johnny’s whiny voice yelling, “Billy Goat!” The door to Billy’s shop can’t slam fast or hard enough to cut it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>$10 stuffed into his pocket like a ‘let’s break up’ letter secreted into his locker, Steve wanders around rather than spending it. He wants to break it down and blow it on something stupid. Just to be spiteful. That flash of spite is quick to pass, however, and he’d rather not be destructive. It’s a difficult emotion to resist, because right now all he wants to do is hurt Billy back. Why the hell would Billy do that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you needed to bribe me or something,” Steve mutters to himself, dejected and lashing out at nothing. “Like, ‘uhh here kid, take this and get out of my hair, will ya? Cramping my style,’ pft, yea okay, like that Johnny guy is the kiddy’s pajamas, which he in fact is not!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The outburst scares a seagull trying to land, and it takes right back off with an angry squawk at him. He flips it off despite tourists eyeballing him like he’s a crazy person. Let them look. He doesn’t care. Steve just jams his hands deeper into the pockets of his shorts and drags his sneakers over sand kicked onto the boardwalk. The pier may be a better choice. Catching the ocean breeze fresh and right off the source. Plus he and Billy haven’t wandered around there, yet. So the place isn’t tainted with memories of the older man. Maybe Steve can clear his head a little, stop thinking about Billy and how much his rejection hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t exactly hope Billy comes looking for him. What a childish thing to want, for Billy to seek him out and apologize like they’re on some soap opera or something. But as Steve wanders in and out gift shops a little cheesier than Billy’s and various tourist traps, Steve keeps an eye out for him. Because in his heart of hearts, he wants Billy to realize he’s upset over Billy’s stupid friend and come comfort him or apologize. They’re probably laughing it up right now, hanging out and talking, when this time is supposed to be his! Theirs! He hasn’t come all this way to have Billy shove a fucking $10 bill in his hand and wave him away like his parents!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve lingers in an ice cream parlor, wrinkly bill broken, and just sort of sulks at a table by himself. At least it’s cool in here. And the teenagers working at this parlor are a little more chipper than the other one. The shop is lively with the boardwalk crowd, kids yelling and tugging like brats on their parents’ clothes. It curdles Steve’s stomach to watch, to know he’d been the same once. Once pestered and begged Billy for attention even though he knew it grated on the older man’s nerves. He doesn’t want Billy to see him that way anymore, but the rejection just now proves Billy does. The table Steve sits at is slightly sticky under his cheek as he slumps down on it, sighing yet again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The misery burning his chest doesn’t allow him to wallow in one place too long. Plus it annoys Steve when he goes to throw his trash away that he’d mindlessly bought a single scoop of vanilla. What Billy ate Steve’s first day here. That was only a few days ago, more like forever in his excitable mind. Because everything with Billy is new. Hell, Billy is new to him in this regard. He’s never seen the real Billy, he’s slowly realizing. A man who has hobbies and a taste in music and a certain way he lives his life. Billy is… an entire person, not just a memory or a smiling face that picks him up and tells him how much he’s growing. His love for Billy is just as fierce as it’s always been. He’s just having to look at it in a new light, and he just wishes Billy wouldn’t let things interrupt their time together. If only he could tell Billy all this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy gives him the opportunity sometime after lunch. Steve is only a few machines deep in an arcade that spills out onto the pier. It’s darker and cooler the deeper he’d wandered, but he’s only good at air hockey and pinball. And you can’t really play air hockey alone unless you want to look stupid. So he’s pelvis-to-cabinet of an Indiana Jones pinball game when Billy’s shadow and reflection appear on the glass covering the board. A corner of his mouth gives a tug of a smile in his reflection, but it has no holding power. Steve doesn’t meet Billy’s eyes behind him or even the ones watching him in the glass. He just goes right on jamming his thumbs into the flipper buttons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t think I’d find you in here,” Billy starts, so lame. Steve’s teeth grind behind his lips. Good. He wants Billy to be uncomfortable. “Never seen you play video games before…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs. All manner of hot takes and quips jump behind his teeth, but he silences them. Each one is meaner than the last, out for blood. The desire to hurt Billy back has faded in the shade of Steve’s dejection and isolation. Billy shuffling behind him, struggling with tension, is good enough. He knows he’s fucked up if Steve isn’t talking. And Steve doesn’t fancy talking right now. He’s still upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you… having fun? You didn’t come back to the shop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs again, hunches more over the cabinet, and mumbles, “Didn’t feel like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A heavy sigh behind him. Steve glances lightning quick to Billy’s reflection in the glass. He’s got a big hand rubbing over his face and then pinches the bridge of his nose. Steve almost smiles from how chuffed he is. Let Billy suffer a fraction of Steve’s melancholy and anger. Serves him right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voice tighter than before, Billy drops his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Any particular reason why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another shrug. Steve keeps his eyes on the board below as Billy shifts his hips and leans around him. He shuffles that much more when Steve doesn’t pick his head up. Luckily, there’s plenty of wasted space on the board to Steve’s left, just the gutter for the ball and the left flipper. So Billy leaning an elbow on the glass to watch his game doesn’t cover anything important. He strives to be casual in that cool, suave way of his. Billy sighing and holding himself stiffly screams the contrary to Steve. He’s not finished enjoying Billy’s discomfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s head shifts just barely to stare right at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now I know you didn’t just lie to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doe eyes flash up to Billy and miss slapping the ball back up the board. It falls out of play, Steve’s last ball. The game blinks in mockery at him, and he feeds it more quarters. Anything to not meet Billy’s eyes. Slightly narrowed, because yes, Steve is lying. And they don’t lie to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slim shoulders throw off another shrug as Steve pulls back the plunger and grumbles, “Didn’t wanna bother you and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Johnny</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost rolls his eyes when he says the name. He doesn’t need the extra flourish when Johnny’s name already drips with disgust and dislike. Steve bottles a scowl as he stares hard at the ball rocketing around the board. Billy is silent to his left. Contemplative. Until he isn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tension slips right out of him when he drawls, “Oh, I get it.” Billy leans more of his weight into the game. Relaxed. Finally having the upper hand between them like he always does. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Stevie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not jealous,” he snaps, another lie. Billy lifts an eyebrow at him when their eyes meet for a split second between Steve slapping the ball back into play. Huffing and grumbling, Steve says under his breath, “If you wanna hang out with him, I don’t care. It’s whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s voice is so sickeningly patronizing when he sighs, “Kiddo, look—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And stop calling me that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pinball machine lights up and twinkles at them while the ball bats in zigzags all around the board. It stays in play while Steve snaps his head up and angles all his rejection and hurt Billy’s way. The machine whines at him when the ball sinks right past the flippers. A second game waits for him to pull the plunger. But Steve thinks if he uncurls his hands from the sides of the game that he may tear his hair out. He sort of wants to just because of the way his voice had cracked a bit. And how pitiful he sounds. And how his eyes start to sting even though he’s not done glaring up at Billy’s wide eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a kid,” Steve grinds out. Either from frustration or to stop the wobble in his chin, he’s not sure. “So stop”—he steps around the game and shoves both hands at Billy’s chest as hard as he can—“treating me like one! Stop talking to me like that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyebrows so confused and pinched together, Billy just grunts, “Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s as delicate as glass about to shatter when he spits out, “Like I’m fragile!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like watching a tower of Jenga blocks buckle before they fall apart, Billy’s expression cracks in much the same way. It knocks the wind out of Steve to watch that handsome face go from confused to terrified in a second. Like someone has walked over his grave. Some of the color drains out of Billy’s face. He stumbles a step back like he’s delayed from Steve’s shove. All of the righteous anger cools on impact as fear and upset blanket Steve. Billy is far away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Billy? I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His instinct is to touch and comfort even if he thinks it’s a bad idea. So Steve steps forward without a thought and snakes his arms under Billy’s. Holding him tightly, Steve ducks his head to Billy’s shoulder. Not that Billy would startle and hit him. And he won’t, because when Billy breathes next with a shiver, he returns Steve’s embrace squeeze for squeeze. He lifts Steve onto the tips of his toes, almost clear off them. They pay no mind to the curious glances from kids. All the parents are checked out or have slipped away. They can have this moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, so small in the hollow of Billy’s throat. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His feet are flat on the ground again when Billy shushes in his ear, “Don’t, baby, don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hands shake where they clutch Steve’s upper arms. He sucks down a huge breath, loud in Steve’s ear, and works his fear back beneath his muscles. Gradually, and then all at once when the shaking stops. Steve’s stomach twists tight and awful, mourning that vulnerability.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy asks quietly, “Where’d you learn to say that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh stop it, Theresa, you’re babying him! Stop treating him like he’s fragile!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s too much space between their chests for Steve to take the phantom roar of Dad’s yell filling the house. His ears. So he tangles his fingers in the front of Billy’s t-shirt and holds on that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When Dad yells at Mom about me, he says that. That she’s too soft on me and is gonna make me fail or a-or a…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Faggot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve glances up through the wave of his hair at Billy. He’s never looked so drained before, so old. In return, Steve has never felt so hollow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yea… How did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy puffs himself back up with a sigh and then a deep inhale. When he next meets Steve’s waiting glance, he’s still tired around the eyes, but he’s himself again. No longer a shell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cuz your dad hasn’t changed much since when I knew him. He said the same shit to me all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve can’t help the dismissive raspberry of his lips. When Billy just keeps watching him, Steve’s tentative ease curls back up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? My dad called you fragile?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep. Not daily, but enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve can’t hope to mingle the ideas of Billy and fragility into some awful amalgam. And that energy works its way out of his brain and into his head when he shakes it. Disbelief distilled so pure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah I-I can’t imagine you being fragile, Uncle Billy. Why did Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A kid waving tickets and screaming darts by them, cutting through the sliver between them. Too close a shave, and Steve almost falls over himself to leap back. It means everything to him that Billy hadn’t flinched away. He’s still here, still behind his eyes, so Steve knows he’s not dazed. His expression tightens, though, and he nods out to the avenue of foot traffic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I closed the shop early. Let’s go back home for lunch, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The abruptness wounds him some. But Steve bets it’s just not a conversation to have in public. It’s typically not when it concerns Billy. The topic of Billy is an NC-17 film that isn’t picked up by theaters. Private viewing only, no distribution. The conversations live and die between them, and only behind closed doors. There is too much at stake, too much at risk for so little. So Steve hop-walks along to Billy’s speedy pace all the way back to his apartment. Each time they walk back into the cool embrace of the AC, Steve wants to gasp Jesus’ name. But he won’t on account of he’s not supposed to say that. He almost wants to pray for whatever Billy is about to tell him isn’t something terrible that will break his heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shoos him to the couch once Steve kicks his feet free of his sneakers. The snap of the deadbolt is usually as jarring as the twitch in his shorts. It’s his natural response after occupying Billy’s space for a few days. So Steve bottles his shiver that usually ignites the tightening of his skin. Instead, he curls up against the arm of the couch that sits snugly to the recliner. It’s a cozy spot, one that isn’t sunk in. And it’s easy for them to occupy this space together and not have Steve hang all over Billy the whole time. Which is what Steve wants, but he knows Billy doesn’t like it. So he tries to spread out the closeness. For Billy’s sake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The couch groans as it always does when Billy falls onto it. His arms spread out along the backrest, knees splayed wider than necessary. Steve just tries to huddle in the pocket of warmth on this side of Billy, in the lee of him. Head tipped back, Billy sighs through an exhale and then opens his eyes. His left arm remains aloft while the right curves around, index finger beckoning Steve out from the corner. Steve unfolds himself and crawls closer. When he’s near enough, both of Billy’s hands strike out like vipers to snatch his waist. Steve breaks into laughter when Billy hauls him up like luggage and positions him just the way he wants. Steve can’t complain on his knees, straddling Billy, hands on the older man’s shoulders. How Billy is still a furnace with the AC blasting…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Billy says lowly, leaning back and relaxed into the couch. “About your dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods and wiggles closer on his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did Dad think you were fragile, Uncle Billy? I can’t imagine you messing up or looking stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s silly,” he drawls right back. “Everybody makes mistakes and everybody makes a jackass out of themselves at some point. Facts of life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay… So why did dad think you were fragile?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hands are flat, palms down on Steve’s thighs. His shorts hit his knee while standing, don’t ride up enough to make a difference. Still, Steve shuffles under those hands, in Billy’s lap, to startle Billy out of his daze. It works like a charm, and Billy is back in the apartment with him. Steve wonders where he goes when he looks far away like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your dad thought that I cared about… people too much. Not like the guys in the frat house or anything like that. Just when someone really mattered to me, I’d let them walk all over me.” Billy shrugs, stares somewhere level with Steve’s short jaw. “He didn’t see it as a flattering trait. From then on? I was fragile to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All because you felt strongly about someone? Doesn’t everyone feel that way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s eyes flick up and meet Steve’s for as long as Steve holds the look. He’s the one to break it. Not that he wants to. Billy is just too intense for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what I thought, but according to Bobby, no. I shouldn’t get hung up on something that was never gonna happen anyway. Something that didn’t matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve hates how much he hears Dad in those words, imagines him saying them as clearly as if he’d heard them in reality. Does anyone know better than Steve the extent of Robert Harrington’s cruelty? Not monstrous or devilish, no, just… He sees the difference in Tommy’s and Carol’s houses. How warm the families are, even if Tommy and Carol complain about the affection. How it ‘suffocates’ them. How ‘lucky’ Steve is he has free range. Hell, Steve even sees it with Jonathan Byers, definitely the saddest kid he’s ever seen. His mom is there after school every day, picking up Jonathan while they wait for the middle school to dismiss. All the kids he knows have families that love them. Steve has Robert and Theresa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Steve’s soft heart reaches out to its brother when Steve slumps his weight into Billy. He’s a familiar weight on that barrel chest, now. His arms are familiar too where they slip under Billy’s to hold him around his chest. Leaning on Billy’s chest and shoulder like this, Steve presses his face to a warm neck and hums wrapped up in Billy’s smell. His shampoo and conditioner, the smell of the shop, his natural body smell. Steve doesn’t relax until Billy’s hands sweep around him to hold him in return. One in the small of his back and the other in his hair. Billy’s fingers in brown locks twitch and clench at the first kiss to his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another kiss and then softly, “My dad’s wrong about you. You’re not fragile just because you liked someone.” More kisses. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you about all that stuff. I was just thinking a lot and it all came out. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy sighs in his hair, “I could treat you more like an adult, less patronizing. It’s the way I’m used to talking to you and treating you.” He huffs a few laughs, grin on his lips as well as in his voice. “You were being a brat, though. I can’t believe you shoved me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just squeezes his face harder to Billy’s neck and muffles, “I said I was sorry, jeez!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More laughter and then, “I know, I’m just giving you shit, don’t be so uptight.” The fingers in Steve’s hair rub tight circles into his scalp, helping him go completely relaxed in Billy’s lap. Tiny sounds slip out of Steve when it feels really good. “I promise I don’t like spending time with anyone more than you. Johnny is only in town for a few days, and I’m not the only person he’s trying to reconnect with. He’ll go away soon, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve feels, ‘Mine,’ form on his tongue and in his heart, but he swallows it to say, “Okay.” He sits up to meet Billy’s eyes and adds, “I only love you, Uncle Billy. I only wanna be with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wiggles where his legs splay wide across Billy’s thighs, knees digging into the flattened cushion. The cheap material and springs under that irritate him, so he shuffles more. He doesn’t stop, pouting and frowning at the couch, until Billy draws in a deep breath. That tugs Steve’s head up. He’s missed something, and he blinks at Billy with big eyes. Relaxed into the couch even more, Billy rather looks like a king on his throne. Enjoying himself with murky eyes and the barest hint of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. It’s the exact opposite of his shocked expression at the arcade, and the heat in his eyes helps Steve forget the hurt he caused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wiggling around on purpose or just having fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy has him by the waist. Steve doesn’t get a chance to mourn the hand that was in his hair when Billy directs his body forward and down. Rubbing Steve’s weight into the front of his jeans. Steve’s balance betrays him, sends him tipping towards Billy. Luckily, his hands slap out to steady himself on broad shoulders. Like this, they’re even closer, and Steve’s moan brushes Billy’s face like a caress. Through eyes that refuse to stop fluttering, he watches that amused grin finally crack over Billy’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I wasn’t mmm!” Steve’s shoulders hunch and his chin tucks to his chest when Billy’s hips rut under him, against him. Wiggling in earnest now, Steve huffs, “I wasn’t trying to do anything. Your couch sucks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s smirk is heavy in the face of that petulance. More so when Billy lifts an eyebrow at those big eyes staring at him. All the while, Billy doesn’t slow the swirling grind of their bodies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I should stop? Is that what you’re telling me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blunt nails dig into Billy through his shirt when Steve crows, “No!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lemme make it up to you,” Billy murmurs deeply while arching forward, brushing a kiss across the fresh heat in Steve’s cheek. “That sound good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like the pretty doll he is, Steve nods plenty eager for whatever Billy has in mind. Anything to make him forget that obnoxious guy at the gift shop. He just hopes they hadn’t gotten comfortable with each other when Steve left. It sets Steve’s teeth on edge, a vicious jealousy he only ever feels with Billy. He’s once again a bratty child told that he can’t have ice cream and can’t play on the swings anymore, they have to go. So he grabs for Billy and tries to take kisses even when Billy’s hands are busy at the fronts of their pants—Billy’s well-worn jeans with the faded indigo in the crotch and Steve’s prissy shorts. Steve doesn’t stop trying for kisses even when Billy chuckles in his face and pinches a nipple through Steve’s shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy!” He whines, hopping on powerful thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie,” Billy whines right back, voice straining with how high he pitches it. “What a needy boy you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just pouts a little harder and huffs, “Need you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s always a slick pleasure like oil tainting a puddle when Billy talks to him like this. When they’re getting into the mood. About to do and say things to each other only lovers do. He doesn’t mind Billy calling him ‘boy’ when they’re like this. Pretty boy, baby boy, all of it. Each word of praise is a hand come down from on high to pet his hair and draw gentle fingertips along his jaw until he’s shaking. Of course Billy can’t talk to him like that all time—it would lose its magic anyway—but Steve doubts he’ll ever lose his hunger for it. Billy pops the button on his shorts about the time Steve thinks maybe he should say something back to Billy. Call him a pet name too, but the only ones that come to mind are the off-limits ‘sir’ and the too-embarrassing-to-utter ‘daddy.’ He settles for hopping on Billy’s thighs and whining instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry,” Steve’s pretty tenor pleads, breaking a little from how much he wants this. “Please touch me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy tugs Steve’s shorts and underwear down enough on his spread thighs to free his cock. That done, he tips his head forward to kiss and hum at Steve’s brow. Steve’s skin is warmer to the touch than normal, will be pink by tomorrow morning. He’ll sport a minor sunburn, but he doesn’t care about that as Billy sits back and toys with his own button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good manners,” he praises with a curled grin. A nod and then, “Take your shirt off for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding and panting, “Yes, Uncle Billy,” Steve tangles his head in the shirt in his haste to get it off, off, off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs as much skin bare and available to Billy. Whatever the older man will do to him, Steve wants it. Each brush of those hands and every kiss just make him want more all the time. How he’ll ever survive at home until Billy visits—until they sneak away to be alone—Steve can’t fathom it right now. Not with Billy’s hands brushing rough palms over his belly and then up his chest, fingers that are a little ugly drumming, pinching his nipples until they’re hard. Steve just arches his chest into the touch and moans to the popcorn ceiling. Water damage spots stain it off-white in wobbly circles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie, look at me, baby boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hard shiver like a punch to the gut knocks him back to earth. Billy is waiting for him when Steve’s head snaps down like a puppet’s, fingers pinching him extra hard to stir some life into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through Steve’s next shudder and wiggle, trying to be naughty and rub himself against anything, Billy murmurs, “You wanna touch me too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always,” Steve sighs like a prayer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Billy chuckles through his nose, it always reminds Steve of a big cat sighing. Like a lion sunning itself but is bothered enough with flies or something to force itself up and move elsewhere. Put-out. So Steve blushes when Billy coaxes long fingers free of his thin t-shirt and directs those lanky hands to the fly of Billy’s jeans. Steve gives the appropriate startle-jump—oh—and tears at the metal hard enough to bend his fingernails. The pain is nothing as he fights the button and just the general tightness of the front of Billy’s jeans. He always looks hard, actually is hard right now. Steve can’t help shaking his left hand free for a second just to squeeze Billy through his clothes. He thinks about that a lot. Touching Billy slyly or having Billy come up behind him, letting Steve feel him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mind yourself, little boy, or we’ll stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shakes his head, mutters, “No, no, I’ll be good, I’ll be good…,” until his lips just twitch over the words. ‘Be good, be good, be good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t look at Billy, especially not when the biggest sigh of all explodes out of him when Steve finally gets a hand on him. Steve groans too, can’t quite catch the whimper with his teeth in his lip. He always forgets how thick Billy is. He’s seen Billy enough times to not stare with his mouth agape. All at once he wants Billy everywhere: rubbing on him, thrusting between his thighs, in his mouth, inside him. They haven’t even approached that last one yet, but Steve is ready. This first, though, whatever Billy will give him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrap your hand around me like I showed you… yep, nice and firm like that, you won’t hurt me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do it,” Steve breathes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warm and soft at the surface and very much hard under that. Familiar. Steve squeezes his handful. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever grow tired of the weight of Billy’s cock in his hand. Funny to think he’d blown the older man before doing something more chaste like this. Steve knows what he wants, though, and Billy gives it to him when it’s within his power. Like now as Billy curls the fingers of his left hand loosely around Steve while his right is content to hold Steve steady by his chest. His thumb is just long enough, or maybe Steve slim enough, to flick at his nipple whenever it softens. It keeps Steve teetering, distracts the up and down and tight motion of his hand. Billy only has to scold Steve when he smears his thumb wet and messy over the poor boy’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look alive, baby, your hand stopped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes more than lips at his nipple and a firm hand to make Billy come. Unlike Steve. A few times, Billy had to be the one to push Steve’s hand or mouth away so Billy could do it himself. Straddled over Billy’s lap, Steve worries this will become one of those times. He hates not performing well enough for Billy—nevermind Billy’s age and anything beyond Steve’s knowing that may cause, ahem, issues. Steve certainly hasn’t seen Billy sneaking tiny, blue pills. Like some of Steve’s uncles and aunts joke about, much to the blushing pride or embarrassment of said uncles. So Steve tightens his hand on the upstroke, clenching his palm and fingers around Billy’s blushing head when he traps it in his grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s better,” Billy grunts, one eye closed. He grins through the expression and says lowly, “Use both hands if you want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s as subtle a suggestion as Billy can manage, being a not-subtle person. So Steve does as he’s directed and wraps both hands around him. Billy sucks in a deep breath through his teeth and lets his head lull back like he’s smoking a cigarette when he really needs it. Steve sees him sometimes in the back office of his store, knees splayed wide in the uncomfortable desk chair as he leans back until the chair creaks, blowing a thin stream of smoke into the air. Billy isn’t the only one who likes to watch, and Steve lives for glimpses of Billy uncensored. Like now as Billy hums and bites the corner of his mouth while tugging Steve closer. He urges the teenager up, higher on his knees. Like this, Steve has the perfect angle to watch Billy draw thin lips over the blank space in the center of his chest. No hair yet, but Steve gets acne enough to know it’ll come in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-Billy,” he laughs, unsteady like this and sort of scrambling to keep his rhythm below. “We can just lie down, you know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy exhales on wet lip prints he leaves behind and grunts, “No. I want you right where you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve finds out why when those same lips brush gentle back and forth over a tiny nipple. Steve jars in Billy’s grip, shoving his cock up and tight. He thinks he hears Billy murmur, “That’s it,” but can’t hear anything other than his own, desperate moans. Tongue slipping out next, Billy is still gentle with kitten licks to a hard nub. Steve’s belly jerks like he’s about to come, but he can’t, not yet, please not yet! Biting himself, Steve strains his long arms to keep his rhythm up, to stay out of Billy’s way. Blocking Billy’s access to him is the last thing he ever wants to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“O-oh god, Billy please…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, good boy,” hums around his nipple before Billy seals his lips and sucks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy has to steady Steve by his hip when the teenager comes with a violent buck and shout. At least this way Steve’s hands squeeze like a vice around the thick length dripping in the tight circle of them. Steve’s orgasm cascades over him and amazes him like a rainstorm starting out of nowhere. Once that initial rush, that initial cock-twitch and belly-buck pass him, his pace is maddening as he tries to catch Billy up. He pays no mind to how his nipple is cold and sore from Billy playing with it. He just shoves his strength into Billy’s chest, pushes him flush to the couch, and stares down at the blushing cock spearing through his fists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whining, Steve drags his teeth over his lip. The aftershocks of his orgasm tingle through his flesh despite how much he wants to focus on Billy. At least the older man had dropped his cock, wiped the back of his hand on his own shirt. It’ll need changing before they go back to the gift shop. Steve spares a glance to the shiny, wet smear on Billy’s shirt and wishes he were blowing Billy instead. When he tries to slip around on his knees, to be sexy or whatever and slide off the couch to the floor, Billy’s hand clamps around the back of Steve’s neck. Thick fingers dig into his skin. Stopping him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay right where you are,” Billy grunts into his hair. Below, his hips pop up, fucking through the tight circles of Steve’s hands. “Mmm wanna make me feel good, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods like his head will come detached and breathes, “Always. I love you so much, Uncle Billy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like the right thing to say. Because he does this out of wild, unchained desire for Billy, but he also does it because he loves the man, too. Which had come first, the lust or love, Steve doesn’t know. Maybe they’re married and wrapped around each other so tightly that it doesn’t matter. All that matters are his fingers squeezing tightly around hard flesh, pulling up until skin and blood pool at the blushing head, and then Steve strokes back down. The rhythm is important, he knows that, comes harder and deeper when he keeps a good rhythm going over his shaft, over the wetness at his head. And Billy is no different with his bruising grip at Steve’s neck, his own head flopped back on the couch and grunting when he snaps his hips into Steve’s fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teeth gnashing, Billy curses, “Fuck, close baby boy, just mmm god damn it, a little more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna make you come,” Steve promises, practically bouncing on Billy’s thighs from excitement. He wants to be the one to make Billy come, wants to prove he can do it. He’s the only one Billy will ever need, if he could just show Billy the truth… “Uncle Billy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy guides him forward with the grip on his thin neck and licks his way past Steve’s lips. Steve squirms all eager in his lap and makes needy noises around his tongue. He kisses and licks back as best he can with his mouth full, attention trying to stay focused on Billy under him. Steve’s heart sinks a bit when his balance wavers, threatening to send him crashing into Billy’s face. So he rips a hand free and slaps it to Billy’s chest to catch himself. He can’t tell if Billy’s groan into his mouth is disappointed or not. It must be, because Billy’s hand not on his neck joins Steve’s grip on his cock. Billy’s hand is tight around Steve’s as they jerk him off together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy isn’t the only one who will need to change his shirt when they leave. His thick cock shoots all over the front of Steve’s shirt and then their hands when the initial, violent spurts die down. Billy almost bucks Steve right off his lap, almost sends him slamming into the coffee table on his back. Steve just clings all the harder to Billy’s shirt and chest while he rides the waves of Billy’s orgasm. Even Billy’s thighs jerk and twitch under Steve, shifting him around. His knees rub into the couch until they’re twin points of pain. The skin will be red with a rug burn. Luckily, he’s a scrappy teenager, and boys will be boys. No one will know how he’s earned these marks, how he’s earned the stink of salt and come on him. The secret of it fills Steve to bursting with love.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <span>If only that love could carry him through the night. They clean up, make it back to the gift shop, but then Johnny is there when they go to lock up around 8 at night. And Steve, the poor idiot, had waved away Billy’s offer of eating dinner in the shop. Because otherwise Steve would wait until they close. Steve agreed at the time, because he wanted to go somewhere with Billy, be seen with Billy, or have a night in with Billy’s slightly-edible cooking. Just the two of them. So Johnny sauntering up and pawing all over Billy, taking him by an arm and tugging him away, sends Steve’s heart into the deepest, ugliest pit of him. He glares at Johnny the entire walk home, slams Billy’s bedroom door in Billy’s face when they get back to the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like it’s somebody’s bedtime,” Johnny remarks through the thin walls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Already face down on Billy’s bed, Steve holds his breath to hear what Billy will say. If Billy will agree or defend him. So his heart doesn’t know what to do when Billy just sighs and mumbles, “You want a beer or something? Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They wander away from the bedroom door at the same time as Steve slams his face into Billy’s pillow. This day has been one shitty moment after shitty moment. First Johnny showing up at the shop and Billy sending Steve away. And then their confrontation at the arcade and talking about Dad. And then Steve couldn’t even make Billy come on his own when they were fooling around. Billy had to help like he always fucking does. And now? And now! That asshole friend of his is stealing more of their time together. And Billy is letting it happen! All of Steve’s turmoil and ugly anger come rushing back, but the flood passes him after a choked noise he buries in the pillow. He’s not a fighter, never has been. So he deflates from that anger and just wallows in a pity party for himself. He doesn’t remember falling asleep to the sunset bathing the room in low light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he slowly surfaces back to the real world, it’s dark. Steve expects quiet, and his sleep-muffled ears give him that quiet. For a second. They tune in first to the hum of the AC unit. It’s not so deep into the night that it cycles off. Steve awakens fully and shivers in the frigid stream that blasts over him. At some point, he’d kicked and squirmed away from the blanket. It lies twisted up where Steve usually sleeps, him currently occupying Billy’s. He huffs, thinks about falling back asleep with the blanket bundled tightly around him, none for Billy, when his ears tune into the rest of the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh god, oh fuck yea Billy, come on,” muffles through the thin wall, the crack in the bottom of the bedroom door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sits up ram-rod straight like something out of a horror movie. Because what strains through the wall and slips into his ears is a horror movie to him. He can’t pick up the groan of the springs in the couch, but he recognizes the heavy panting and the whispered words. Shaking his head with his heart in his throat, Steve slowly pushes himself to the edge of the bed and then stands. Surely not. Surely Billy and his friend are not fucking on the couch. Billy accused him not even 12 hours ago of being jealous, that jealousy isn’t a good look for him. And Steve assured Billy he loves him and doesn’t want to be with anyone else. So why is Billy doing this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has to see for himself. Sick like peeking through a window while driving past a car accident, he has to look. If they catch him, fine, he doesn’t care. It would serve Billy right, having to flounder and explain himself with the images still burning in Steve’s eyes. Steve won’t be letting this go regardless, so Billy will have to face the fallout eventually. Probably tomorrow morning over breakfast when Steve wouldn’t be able to stomach it anymore. The lie between them. Billy says, ‘I love you,’ so easily like Steve does. So what the fuck it this?! Steve’s pulse thunders behind his eyes, the angriest he’s ever been, as he twists the doorknob slowly in his hand to stop it from clicking and giving him away. When it won’t twist anymore, he slips the flimsy door open a crack and peeks through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The angle is wrong. They’re not crammed into this corner of the couch near the recliner and kitchen. Their clothes are thrown about the floor, condom wrapper on the coffee table ripped open. Mouth souring from the fresh sounds, the door no longer dulling them, Steve peeks out that much more. Around the corner of the wall, he spies them. Johnny’s long, thin body almost bent over the arm of the couch facing the front door. And Billy behind him, powerful and grunting while he fucks Johnny from behind. Billy has a foot on the floor while he jars Johnny forward on his knees with every thrust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worst of all when Steve gathers the courage to seek out Billy’s face in all this mess, he finds Billy thoroughly enjoying himself. An eager grin stretches his lips, teeth showing and tongue licking at them as he changes his grip on Johnny’s waist. No grimace, no nervous glances towards the bedroom like Steve will happen upon them any second now. No, he grunts and grins and fucks Johnny that much harder when Johnny’s noises turn higher. Steve can’t watch anymore when Billy shoves Johnny’s head down to the arm of the couch, forcing the other man to muffle his cries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve keeps it together long enough to close the bedroom door and then flatten his back to it. Through the door and wall, his ears catch Johnny and Billy groaning together, the unmistakable calls of a climax. Steve could just be sick, thinks about heaving stomach acid all over the gross carpet in here. Because he’d gone to bed hungry. Instead, he slides down the door with both hands cupped over his mouth. Because he knows he won’t throw up in Billy’s bedroom, but he absolutely will cry alone and heartbroken on the floor. Back to the thin door, Steve curls up with his knees tucked tightly to him, as tight as they’ll go. Steve’s arms pillow under his head and make a safe, dark circle for him to hide his face in and just cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s being a baby, crying like this. Only little kids cry so hard they can’t breathe. Only little kids sob like he does against the sleeve of his t-shirt, biting himself to bury the noise. Only little kids think, ‘I wanna go home,’ when they’re upset like this. At least at home he could lock himself away and be alone for as long as he wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s cold on the floor, and his chest squeezes until he worries it will explode. So he just curls up on the ugly carpet and sniffles into his arm until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. Steve certainly doesn’t mean to fall asleep in front of the bedroom door. The hurricane of emotions that has batted him around all day finally comes to collect and drags him into sleep. He awakens to the bedroom door smacking him in his tailbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Billy hisses on the other side. He tries once more to open the door only to send the flimsy thing right into Steve’s back. Again. Through the opening, the scent of soap and humidity drift in. “The fuck is blocking the door…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mindless of his guest, Billy slides his hand along the wall and flicks the light on. The gap allows Billy’s head and a shoulder to squeeze through, and he glares down. The expression melts when annoyed blues meet mournful browns and Billy takes in Steve’s curled up form. Sleeping on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stevie? What are you doing on the floor, little man?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve wants to sass him like he had earlier at the arcade. Wants to just shove Billy out of the room so Billy can be the one to sleep alone. It’s that wild thing in him that wants to hurt Billy like Billy hurts him, only he knows he can’t do that, could never hurt Billy on purpose. And besides, the rest of him doesn’t want that in the first place. He just wants to understand why Billy would have sex with someone else when Steve is right here. Why not him? So all his sorrow and hopelessness come rushing back as he sits up, aiming watery eyes at Billy from below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you hate me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the only way he reasons in his head why Billy would do this. Billy must be pissed off at him about earlier and just wants to get back at him. Or hates him for some reason. Despite all the evidence of the contrary, Steve can’t think about that right now. He just remembers the two of them together and how sick it’d made him to watch even for those few seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy blinks down at him, slowly shaking his head as his eyebrows come together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s face crumbles a little, his sorrow getting the best of him, when he whines, “If you hate me, just tell me. You didn’t have to go do that, I-I can take a hint.” His eyes overflow, so fucking pathetic, and Steve rubs his forearm across them. Hard enough to make him see colors with his eyes closed. “Just send me home and I won’t bother you anymore, I-I wanna go home, I don’t wanna be here anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He buckles like a belt when Billy wiggles the rest of the way into the room and kneels beside him in nothing but sweatpants. Billy laying a hand on his back is simultaneously the worst and best thing. Best because he just wants Billy to comfort and love him, worst because he’s pretty sure everything is ruined and Billy is just patting his back like he would a crying child. Steve curls up on the floor as tight as he can and throws his arms over his head. He doesn’t want Billy to touch him but can’t find the courage to tell him to go away, can’t push Billy away to save his life. The older man sighs above him as Steve sniffles and bites back whimpers. All while petting his back up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what brought this on?” Billy asks, almost bored. “Did you hear us fucking or see us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The urge to vomit surges harder than earlier when he’d first discovered them. But Steve holds it all back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both,” he moans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another sigh, this one tired and louder than before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under his breath, more to himself than to Steve, Billy mutters, “Knew that was gonna come back to bite me in the ass.” Steve doesn’t see Billy plant his feet and reach to wrap his arms around him. “All right, get up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those arms try to wiggle through the tight curl of him to pick him up. Steve loosens only to struggle, to kick out. If he hits Billy, most of him doesn’t mean to, instincts like a panicked animal’s. His hands certainly bounce off useless and weak from where he slaps them to Billy’s shoulders and chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” He shouts, wiggling all the harder. Steve’s heart jumps into his throat when Billy grumbles above him and just hauls him up like he’s nothing. The bed rushes up to meet Steve soon enough. Genuine panic settles in when Billy’s weight dents the mattress, his form hovering above him. He screams, “No, let me go, I wanna go home! Leave me alone, leave—!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hand over Steve’s mouth and angry glare above him cut his screams off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lower. Your voice,” he rumbles carefully, so carefully. “It’s the middle of the night, you wanna wake up the whole fucking block screaming like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Steve swallows his next whimper, just cries like a silent fool up at Billy, Billy takes his hand away. He even sits up to give Steve room, although Steve stays flat on his back where Billy has hauled him. If he moves right now, he’ll shatter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another sigh explodes out of Billy as he draws his hands through his hair. Steve recognizes the motion well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was…” Billy’s lips roll into a thin line as he looks far away, considers Steve for a glance, and then away again. “That was an extremely poor decision on my part. I shouldn’t have done that, wish I could begin to explain to you why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head and drops his hands to the bed. Using them to help scoot himself to the edge, Billy sits there with his arms braced on his knees and leans like that on them. Dark blond curls slip over his shoulders when he bows his head. They’re not completely dry yet. Another sigh lifts his back as big and full as it will blow up and then collapses with his exhale. Steve’s heart is in his throat all over again, beating so fast it may give out. Now he finds the glue to hold himself together to sit up. The hurt is still fresh, his big eyes still wet, but he wants to hear what Billy has to say. He wants an explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy doesn’t offer him one, just grumbles, “I’ll call the airport in the morning and see what they can do about your return ticket. I’ll try to have you back in Hawkins as soon as I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body tenses to rise, but Steve scrambles for him across the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“W-wait, where are you going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy regards him over the bulk of his shoulder and bicep. Frowning behind them, his brow tightens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To sleep on the couch. You said you wanted to be left alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, that he had. Blood creeps into Steve’s damp cheeks, never so deeply embarrassed in his life. Steve leaves his hand on Billy while hopping closer. Blue eyes just stare at him, no expression on Billy’s face. His facial hair pokes through after a long day. He’s probably prickly all over his jaw and neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing the lump in his throat, Steve says softly, “Can you just… tell me why you had sex with him? If you wanted to, we could have, I want us to, I just don’t understand why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes all of Steve’s nerves to coax his eyes up to meet Billy’s. Billy shows him mercy, or maybe can’t hold their gaze, and looks away after a blink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he sighs, frustration tensing his shoulders, a vein sort of popping in his forehead. “He was here, he asked, and I said yes. I didn’t really think about you during the process. Not until I had to tell him to be quiet because he might wake you up.” Billy reaches up to drag a hand all over his face. It does nothing to dislodge Steve’s hand on him. “I don’t know what else to tell you, Steve, I really wasn’t thinking about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods and finally slips his hand away. He sits on his knees beside Billy and just lets his fingers tangle in his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you… not want to have sex with me anymore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not it,” Billy says lowly. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve mumbles, eyes starting to fill up again, “Maybe you think that, but I don’t.” His fingers tense in his lap, wanting to dig his nails into something. To hurt or feel pain, he’s not sure. “It really… fucked me up to see that. It made me feel like you hate me and don’t want me anymore.” Amber eyes zip up to Billy’s waiting for him, and Steve nearly spits out, “And don’t tell me I’m being silly about this. Don’t tell me how to feel. That’s exactly what my parents would say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s face pinches and colors a bit, irritated at him, but he sucks down a huge breath and lets it go. Or maybe forces it down, whatever Billy does with his emotions. It wouldn’t surprise Steve at all if Billy just bottles them. He’s always felt that way about Billy, that Billy just hides everything and lets it fester. He doesn’t know how to help Billy, wishes he could. One fucking problem at a time, though, because Steve’s heart is still in tatters over this. And if somehow Billy changes his ticket to leave tomorrow, Steve isn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t step on that plane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really hurt me,” he adds barely above a whisper. “I want you to know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy picks his head up to look at Steve and meets the wobble of Steve’s chin and how his eyes overflow. Steve’s heart could only sink lower if he’d overheard Billy saying ‘I love you’ to someone else. Like Johnny. Someone other than him. Steve isn’t even sure if Billy loves him if he’s so casual about fucking someone else. Steve feels along the thread of that thought, understands it in totality, but regards Billy with a sniff and a frown despite his tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t, um, you didn’t have sex with him because you like him. Like me. You did it just because you could? Because you wanted to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The change of topic winds Billy, surely, because he just sits there and blinks at Steve. Like it takes a few seconds to string all the words together and process them. Steve watches the wheels turn in Billy’s head until Billy grunts, “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods and then stares at Billy’s hands hanging limply between his knees. They’re spread wide like always, taking up the most amount of space. Throat still so tight, Steve reaches out for a square hand and picks it up. It weighs what a hand should, just seems heavier with the air between them so delicate, so charged with fuel a spark would ignite Steve’s high emotions all over again. That’s the hormones talking, the immaturity talking, and Steve shivers to chase it all away. He can be an adult about this. He’s already figured it out, the miscommunication. If only Billy had seen it and understood before tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s where maybe we don’t agree,” Steve tries gently, clasping Billy’s hand between his. “See, earlier when I was mad about Johnny, I said that I only love you and I only wanna be with you. And I meant that for sex, too, I don’t wanna have sex with anyone but you, because I love you. I thought you felt the same, so when I saw you earlier, well…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Realization twitches in Billy’s fingers. And then they tighten over Steve’s hand, scooping it up to cradle it in both of his. Steve has to lean forward and rest some of his weight against the outcropping of Billy’s shoulder. But Billy is warm where he’s naked from the waist up, fresh from a shower before discovering Steve on the floor, so Steve doesn’t mind sapping some heat from him. The AC blows directly at them and threatens to send Steve into relentless shivers. At least his heart is somewhat lighter, now, talking it out. Not healed, not by a long shot, but not threatening to break into glimmering pieces inside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Billy says at last. Finally, finally an apology! “I guess I should have figured that out when you said it like that. I just”—Billy sighs—“when I was your age, I was sleeping around and fucking around with anyone who would give me the time of day. It didn’t matter about love or any of that shit. And I’m not much different now, Steve. I fucked Johnny because I wanted to. Because it felt good and he wanted it. It’s got nothing to do with feelings. I promise we’re just friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, but Steve doesn’t want Billy to sleep around. Is it unfair to ask Billy to stop? Can he ask that? He’s not so sure, but if he thinks about Billy kissing and touching anyone else, he’ll lose it all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you maybe? Stop?” Steve winces even as he says it, but he powers through. “I get it now that it didn’t mean anything to you, but it means a lot to me. It makes me feel like you don’t want me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s right hand crossing over him to cup Steve’s cheek and tilt his head up must be awkward. He does it anyway, and Steve leans into the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says that like it’s easy. Steve tries to keep his breathing steady when he asks, “You mean it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t want me to have sex with anyone else, then I won’t.” Billy continues to cradle Steve’s cheek, but he looks away when he mumbles again, “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hope climbs over Steve’s heart lodged in his throat, and he blurts, “So you don’t hate me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Billy looks at him with some of his normal attitude. He turns his head enough to cock an eyebrow up at Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you’re being silly,” he drawls. “Of course I don’t hate you, Steve. You know I love you very much.” A corner of Billy’s mouth twitches in a humorless smile, but it’s here and gone in a blink. “Maybe I don’t act it enough or say it enough, but I really do love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tremor plagues Steve’s hands when he reaches for Billy. They shake even more when Billy twists at the waist and opens his arms, welcoming Steve before Steve even shifts on his knees. So Steve falls into him, arms snaking around Billy’s neck, his face soon following to hide there. Billy shushes him and holds him, draws both hands up and down Steve’s back. There are no more tears, not allowed when Steve’s heart and spirit soar once more. It had all been a misunderstanding, just like Steve thought. Steve hums in Billy’s neck, over the moon that they’re okay, that Billy loves him, and goes to climb into Billy’s lap. Billy accepts him with only a grunt when Steve’s rear and thighs settle in his lap. As a second thought, Billy throws a hand behind them to snatch the blanket long abandoned and tucks it around Steve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I’m sorry, too,” Steve says to the dips and peaks of Billy’s collarbones. A hand in his hair quiets the shake in his voice, and Steve cuddles closer. It pauses only to make sure the blanket covers Steve’s shoulder and then returns to its task. “I’ve been feeling really angry and weird today, and I’m sorry for taking it out on you. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Uncle Billy, I’m just really sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy snorts about him and murmurs rather lazily, “Hormones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nudges his forehead against delicate bones, knows it stings, and huffs, “Mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean I’m probably right. I was a loose canon when I was your age, getting into fights with people who didn’t even look at me wrong, they were just there. Fighting and fucking, that’s it.” Billy’s stomach bucks a few times when he laughs. “Sometimes both at the same time, or one would evolve into the other. Crazy times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning in his hiding spot, Steve asks, “Wait, were you having sex with other guys? Like… wasn’t it dangerous? It still kinda is now, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all knew who the other gay guys were. You had to back then, otherwise someone might show up at your house and smash all the windows or set your shit on fire. So we all fucked around with each other. College was the same deal, you just knew who the gay guys were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve makes a face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds complicated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was,” Billy sighs. His hand isn’t idle in Steve’s hair, pets him mindlessly. “Still is if you go outside a big city like San Diego. Guess I won’t have to worry about you getting into trouble, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve leans out of Billy’s space enough to look up and catch blue eyes waiting for him. Attention gained, Billy winks at him. It fills Steve with joy. The normalcy of that wink, 100% the Billy he knows and loves so deeply. So Steve doesn’t hesitate to lean in and kiss Billy’s cheek. It’s as rough with his 5 o’clock shadow as he’d thought it would be. It’s nothing compared to the lip burn from his moustache, which Steve doesn’t mind either. Steve angles his head all nice and slow for a kiss. Until Billy’s hand in his hair slips to the back of his neck and makes him stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably shouldn’t do that,” Billy murmurs, leaning away to make sure Steve doesn’t try it. “You’ve been through a lot today. Don’t be so quick to jump back into things with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve pouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I want to kiss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, I know you do.” When Steve cowers a bit under his hand, Billy sighs and returns Steve’s cheek kiss. “But maybe take the rest of the night to just… digest all the shit you felt today. I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and regret getting over your feelings so fast. It didn’t work for me when I was younger, and I know it won’t work for you.” Billy squeezes Steve’s neck until he relaxes. “Trust me on this, Stevie, I know what I’m talking about. I’ll kiss you all you want tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another kiss to his cheek, and then softly spoken, “I promise. You know I love you, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tiny curl of noise escapes Steve, and he tightens his arms around Billy’s neck. The blanket slips down some, welcoming chilly fingers to curl around Steve. It’s a temporary discomfort as he steals two more kisses from Billy’s cheek and then hides his face once more. Billy’s hands pack the blanket back in around Steve before reassuming their positions in his hair and on his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the safety of Billy’s throat, Steve says, “I know, and I love you, too. So much. And-and I don’t wanna go home, I was just upset, please don’t send me home. I wanna stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy's lone hand on his back pets him up and down through the blanket as he chuckles, “Okay, I won’t. I honestly don’t know if the airport could have done anything. Worst case I woulda just bought you a ticket back and Bobby could pay me back or something. But now we don’t have to worry about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s still the matter of Billy sleeping on the couch. Which Steve doesn’t want for so many reasons. But if Billy won’t kiss him properly, then he probably won’t sleep next to Steve either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna go sleep on the couch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He asks it so dejected, already resigned to sleeping alone in this cold bedroom. He’d only managed it before because of his grief. Falling asleep without Billy to act as a buffer from the AC and a personal electric blanket won’t be easy. But he won’t whine and beg for Billy to stay. That’s not what an adult would do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy hums, tickling Steve where he’s cuddled tightly to his neck, and drawls, “If I stay, will you behave yourself and go to sleep? No funny business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods and repeats, “No funny business, I promise. I just don’t wanna be alone. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers the please as an afterthought, but Billy’s arms around him squeeze him tightly for it anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll stay. It’s probably damn near 2 AM now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They separate slowly with Billy’s hand on his neck guiding him back. A glance at Billy’s nightstand and yes, it’s a little after 2 AM. Glancing up, Steve finds tired wrinkles under Billy’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Steve says, half sheepish and half truthful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Apology accepted.” Billy gives him a pointed look. “Do you accept mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve goes to scoff, because of course he accepts Billy’s apology. But he thinks better of it and offers a smile instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. I’m just so glad that we figured it out, that it was just a misunderstanding. I was… really afraid you didn’t want me anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand on his neck draws him close again. Not for a proper kiss, but a lingering, soft one on Steve’s forehead. Billy breathes against him even after it ends. Just holding Steve to him. Steve’s shiver has nothing to do with the AC crawling under the blanket where it’s fallen down again. It’s all Billy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you very much, Steve. It still scares me how much I want you.” Billy sighs against him, kisses him again, and then pulls back. He somehow looks more tired than a few seconds ago. “I think about it more than I should.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another shiver ripples through Steve. The exhaustion threatening to tear him down brick by brick helps Steve curtail the rampant hunger always lying just beneath his skin. They need to sleep. And digesting today is definitely a good idea if Billy is the one telling him to do it. So even though he wants to kiss and touch like they normally do, Steve tucks it all away. For later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you, too,” he says softly. “A lot. Will you hold me while we sleep? Like you usually do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy huffs a tiny laugh through his nose. His smile is easy when he replies just as softly, “Of course, baby. I don’t think I could stop myself from cuddling you if I tried. Go put some sleep clothes on and we’ll lie down. It’s way past our bedtime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Said sleep clothes amount to one of Billy’s t-shirts stolen from the closet and underwear. Sure, he has dorky pajamas from home. But he’d rather sleep in Billy’s shirts. They’re not even that oversized on him, on account of Billy deliberately buying them a size smaller. Plus like this Steve can tug the collar up and smell Billy whenever he wants. It shames him in some stupid way that he likes how Billy smells, wants to smell like him—is of course taking full advantage of Billy’s shampoo and conditioner, all that stuff. Nobody talks about liking how someone smells unless they’re wearing perfume or cologne. The smell of Billy’s skin and body in general is just pleasant to Steve in a way he cannot hope to explain. He just likes it. So when he crawls up the Murphy bed to Billy already at the pillows, blanket arranged for them, Steve drops himself face-first into a pillow. The hand that settles on his back immediately pets him up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Stevie, you wanna be a pal and get the light?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve groans, annoyed because he’s comfortable, but pops up to do as he’s told. He stumbles back to the bed once the light is cut, functionally blind in the dark. Thankfully, his shins are spared from painful brushes with the bedframe. The moment Steve’s knees dent the bed, hands snap him up like a trap and drag him where he belongs. Steve bites back a moan and tries to press as much of his body to Billy’s as possible. Partially because Billy is so deliciously warm but also to just be close to him. No funny business, he remembers well, and settles once Billy scoops an arm around his stomach. Billy’s head ducks down so that thin lips kiss the back of Steve’s neck, but that’s the most he gets. That and Billy’s body tucked perfectly along the curve of him, even their legs folded together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His turn to sigh, Steve cuddles into the pillow under him and mumbles, “I love you, Uncle Billy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flicks his hand down to cover Billy’s cupped over his navel. To see if Billy will let him linger. If Billy lets him get away with it. Billy shuffles behind him to hold him tighter and welcomes Steve’s fingers between his. It’s the happiest Steve has been all day, holding hands in the dark with Billy, his exhales heavy in his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Voice already slurred, Billy parrots back, “I love you too, baby. Very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all smashed together at the end, but Steve just smiles and rubs his face into the pillow. Maybe he’ll feel different about it in the morning. Digesting like Billy had told him. But right now he’s on top of the world as he follows Billy into dreams.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you think we'll be starting this chapter with Steve immediately climbing all over Billy again, that would be incorrect. As much as Steve is a bleeding heart and starving for love, even he would be hurt enough to cool his jets. Not enough to leave Billy or hold a grudge, this is Steve we're talking about lol. I like to think this chapter is "slow" enough for Steve. I didn't feel like writing the cool period between them, because I can only take SO much teenage angst. That was like ten years ago for me, no thanks. </p><p>Anyway =3c Enjoy this peaceful chapter. Also if you enjoy my writing, feel free to click my username to be taken to my profile where I have like 10 other stories about these two assholes. Ranging from sweet ("Solidarity," "Please, Please, Please") to sad ("Summer Lovin") aaaand Carolina Reaper spicy ("Drop (The Game)", "Aloe"). I'd put links, but I can't be fucked to do HTML right now. This is a lighter chapter, so I don't expect many "omg!" comments, but it would be nice.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They close the shop early on Friday. Steve’s first Friday before he goes home next week. Billy is rather secretive about it, why they’re locking the door and walking home at 2 PM instead of 8 at night like normal. As Steve hops and jogs along to see Billy’s face as he fires off query after query on the sidewalk, Billy just holds back a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll tell you when the time comes,” he laughs when Steve grabs his wrist and tugs on it, about two second from whining. He gently shakes Steve off him and adds, “It’s a surprise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve been sort of delicate with each other the past two days. Maybe gun-shy is the right word. The couch where Billy and Johnny had lain together is off limits to Steve. Their afterimages are papercuts spattered around the sore wound of Billy’s betrayal. Steve always has to stop himself from spiraling, remind himself that Billy didn’t mean to be cruel. Billy won’t do it again, is on the same page as Steve now. Billy promised he wouldn’t have sex with anyone else, and Steve’s love leads him to believe Billy. Still, it cannot be forgiven so easily. So Steve takes up space on the recliner despite his bruised love crying out for his spot next to Billy. If Billy notices his distance, is hurt by it like Steve is, he keeps it to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only yesterday that they’d hugged and kissed again. Gently with arms hesitating to wrap around each other. And then just chaste cheek and forehead kisses, is this okay, do you still want me? Billy had asked the next morning after if Steve was sure he wanted to stay. Steve remains days later, growing more sure of his place again. Billy makes it up to him with respectful distance and careful caresses. For the first time since that awful day, they kissed this morning over coffee for Billy and cereal for Steve. Steve balanced a bowl of cereal he didn’t even want while lounging in the recliner with his legs crossed. Billy leaned from the side and above him, coffee on his breath, and tipped Steve’s head up to kiss him. Steve has ridden the wave of that euphoria all day, only now Billy’s amused secrecy overshadows that. Whatever Billy has in store, it’ll probably be great. Or terrible, there’s truly no middle ground with this man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they walk back to the apartment, Billy doesn’t even make for the front door. He stops at the Camaro, keys in hand, and holds the door open to let heat escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods to the passenger door and says, “Open yours too unless you wanna fry your ass on the seat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve does as he’s told and wonders, “Are we going somewhere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grocery shopping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Billy’s cryptic smile remains, so chuffed with himself over his secret. Steve resists the pout trying to curl his lip and just huffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can stay here for that, I don’t need to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy turns a mocking pout on him over the roof of the car and simpers, “What, my little buddy doesn’t wanna hang out with me? Okay, I get it…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! That’s not what I’m saying!” Steve does pout now, but it turns into a smile when Billy snorts, his control about to slip. “Come on, Uncle Billy, just tell me what you’re planning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shrugs, slings himself into the car with a grunt, and his voice drifts through the hot air, “Can’t. It would ruin the surprise. Get in, we’re losing daylight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says that, but it doesn’t get dark here until after 9. Suspicions rising, Steve buckles up without prompt and goes along for the ride. Billy doesn’t turn the AC on, has them drive the short distance to the store with the windows down, radio up. At least the inside of the store is blessedly cool when they spill into it. Watching Billy grab a shopping cart like the housewives around them tickles Steve more than he’d thought possible. More so when Billy unfolds an actual list from his back pocket and starts making the rounds of the produce area. He fills a produce bag with four ears of corn, peeling the husks back to peek at them, and another with potatoes. When Steve cranes up on his toes to steal a cheeky look at the list, Billy angles it away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Steve whines long with his head thrown back. “Are you planning a special dinner or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That makes sense. They’re still a bit off with each other. Maybe Billy wants to make amends this way, although Steve would rather he do something else. It’s not that Billy is bad at cooking, he’s just not great at it…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A corner of Billy’s mouth can’t help itself when it ticks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sort of. You’ll see.” They wander to the deli and meat department next, and Billy stands in front of shiny, cling-wrapped packages of ground beef. He glances down the way to where signs indicate pork and chicken, too. “You like brats or burgers more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Burgers…” Steve doesn’t sound or feel sure about it, but Billy adds beef patties to the cart anyway. They’re already formed and ready to cook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pauses with a wrapped, styrofoam plate of bratwursts in one hand and reads down his list in the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go get chips and snacks you like, but don’t go crazy.” He eyes Steve for a second. “No ice cream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve scoffs, “Lame,” but spins around on the ball of his sneaker to scamper off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The grocery store is bigger than the one in Hawkins. Makes sense, but it still takes Steve craning a look down every aisle, around carts and other shoppers, to find the chip aisle. Chips snatched from one aisle and cookies from another, Steve repeats his brief glances down the rows to find Billy again. Steve barely spares the last aisle a glance but has to double back because Billy is there. It’s all outdoors stuff. Bug spray, citronella candles, charcoal. A bag of which Billy slides into the bottom shelf of the cart, smacks his hands together to rid them of black dust. He looks up at that moment to meet Steve’s eyes as he comes hopping towards him, smile already on his face. Billy gives him a once over, discovers no contraband from the frozen section, and then returns Steve’s smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right, we got everything, let’s check out and get this shit home.” He turns to the cart with Steve behind him, but then pauses to toss over his shoulder, “Remind me to buy ice. And we gotta stop at the gas station on the way back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What for, Steve doesn’t know, just flops his head in understanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna tell me what the surprise is yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope,” Billy says with a grin. “Good things come to those who wait, yea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve grumbles out the side of his mouth, “You’re being mean on purpose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re next in line when Billy laughs down to him, “Would it be me if I were any other way about it? Come on now…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just sticks his tongue out at Billy, feigning upset over the surprise. Whatever it is, involving the food and charcoal, it’ll be fine. After that terrible night with Johnny and them talking, it’s been nothing but them. No more friends; no more interruptions. They went back to the arcade Billy found him in, and Steve playfully schooled Billy in a few rounds of air hockey, showed him how to play pinball. Like there’s a trick to it. It was all worth it to have Billy stand behind him with Steve’s hands on top of Billy’s to press the buttons for him. Of course, they couldn’t get as close as Steve wanted. It was an arcade, for Christ’s sake. But to be enveloped in Billy’s warmth and to be able to stand there in his arms, so innocent and chaste… It meant more to Steve than he thought possible, and he fell asleep last night to memories of the Indiana Jones game making noise and Billy chuckling behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just today in the shop, that had all been pleasant, easy bliss, too. Steve was put in charge of walking around the store and dusting shelves, reorganizing knick knacks to make more room. Wherever Steve wandered throughout the shack, he could turn his head and find Billy manning the register, his summer helper absent again. Billy doesn’t seem to mind so long as Steve accompanies him. So they can spend more time together. It’s not exactly how Steve wants to spend time with Billy—Steve would rather they lock themselves in Billy’s apartment, alone together—but it’s nice to get out. Steve isn’t interested in touristy things, much to Billy’s relief. The beach is cool, the pier has some fun things to poke around. Truly, though, wherever Billy is that’s where Steve wants to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he feels neither the drop of disappointment nor the swell of excitement when they return to Billy’s apartment only for Billy to prepare the vegetables he’d bought—fussing with the corn and potatoes long enough to cook and wrap everything in aluminum foil to reheat later. Then Billy immediately packs the car with two coolers, a tent, and a bunch of other shit. It’s a whirlwind of activity, constantly moving since they closed the gift shop at 2, and Steve doesn’t know how to feel about what they’ll be doing this weekend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we… going camping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve has never been, his parents not outdoor types or even the sophisticated outdoor types with an RV. Too messy, too stressful. Steve doubts their marriage could take the sort of decision making and planning camping requires. Billy handled it all because it’s a surprise, but Steve easily sees his parents nitpicking each other over every little thing. There’s a reason they sleep in separate bedrooms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy slams the trunk shut, everything but the cooler of food inside, and confesses so proudly, “Surprise. Are you excited or already trying to think of ways to get out of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says as much with a wink, and Steve rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you woulda planned this if you thought I’d hate it. I can be really annoying when I want to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Billy mutters under his breath, grinning Steve’s way because he knows Steve hears him. “It’s about a 90-minute drive out to the reservoir. We’ll pick a campsite, set the tent and shit up, and then maybe we can find a spot on the fake beach to swim for a little while. How’s that sound? You brought something to swim in, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duh, of course, I was thinking non-stop about this trip since my birthday.” Steve huffs, indignant, but turns hopeful eyes up at Billy. “Are you gonna swim with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duh, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve bites back a smile and huffs through his nose instead. It’s a Billy mannerism he’s picked up since arriving. Same with catching Billy’s eyes across the shop when a customer is being annoying or shitty. They do that, now, have silent conversations with just eye contact. It’s great, something he’s only shared with Tommy so far, but it means so much more with Billy. Especially when Steve looks up from doing something in the shop or if he’s on the couch while Billy smokes with the patio door cracked open and catches blue eyes watching him. Like now. He likes it when Billy watches him. Mostly because no matter what’s happening behind those eyes, Billy is thinking about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I guess I need a bag with some clothes and stuff to wash with?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grab some clothes, I already got everything else. You won’t really get clean until we come back here Sunday and take a shower, cuz the showers out there are just filtered lake water, but it’ll get the job done. Make it quick, little man, if we wanna get a good campsite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve can’t bolt in and out of Billy’s apartment fast enough. Clothes stuffed into a plastic bag snatched from the kitchen, Steve throws himself into the car when Billy hounds him from the open window. His stuff ends up in the backseats with the cooler, food, and another plastic bag with clothes for Billy. They’d already stopped at the gas station to fill up and for Billy to buy beer. Steve suspects Billy will let him drink, has sort of teased the idea every time Billy popped the top on a can around him this week. So maybe this will be the time Billy doesn’t dismiss Steve’s suggestion with a hum or a look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy doesn’t say when they pull off a paved road and onto a dirt and gravel one about 90 minutes later if they’ve arrived in enough time to pick a ‘good’ campsite. Steve doesn’t even know what that entails, to be honest. Proximity to a bathroom? To a parking area? Tree coverage? Anyway, they make the rounds of an area slightly crowded with tents and people still setting up. Billy makes a face, grumble accompanying it rolling in his throat, and they leave to try another area. Billy will have to make his way back to the beginning of the campgrounds to fill out a claim and pay the fee for the two nights anyway. Steve has already been tasked with staying at the campsite when they find one so no one steals it out from under them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect,” Billy sighs at last when they lumber through a quieter gathering of flat campsites with outhouses nearby. There’s more tree coverage here. “It may fill up as the day goes on, but people will want the campsites closer to where you drive to get to the reservoir. This is what we want, buddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Privacy, or at least the semblance of privacy, must be the qualifier for a ‘good’ campsite to Billy. Steve doesn’t mind, enjoys that the wind in the woods is more prominent than the distant screams of children he’d seen running around the first spot they checked out. For that alone, Steve is glad they’d moved on to try elsewhere. Billy pulls up in a loop that will take him back to the main artery of the dirt roads and then nods to the campsites beside them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pick one that’s got some distance between it and any others, but no closer to the shit boxes than we are right here, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve already has his seatbelt off and a hand on the door when he says, “Okay. I, um, I don’t know how to set up a tent or anything…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy waves his words away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about any of that, I’m not unloading anything right this second. And I wasn’t gonna make you do any of the setup by yourself, I’ll show you how to do it. Pick us a good one, yea buddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods, glances around to find them alone, and then leans over the center console to peck Billy on the lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurry back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That little stunt will probably end up earning him a lecture Steve bets while wandering around the campsites. Something about being more careful, that they can’t do that outside the apartment. Something. Billy certainly lingers with the engine grumbling at an idle even when Steve is all the way on the other side of the campgrounds. Steve carefully keeps his back to Billy to not meet whatever expression is on his face. So maybe he doesn’t have to deal with any consequences right now. The Camaro eventually rolls away, seemingly gentler than it could. Then again, that could be in Steve’s head with his hopes high and excitement from the drive here still fresh in him. He’d thought driving here with just loud music filtering out the windows, wind helping to deafen him anyway, would be boring. And it was, but Billy holding his hand sometimes made it worth it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing near the remains of a fire at a campsite, Steve keeps an eye on the dirt road for Billy. This one is good enough, hopefully, and there’s no one here yet. Steve would rather go through the motions of unpacking the car and setting things up without an audience. He doesn’t know how to do any of this: pitch a tent, start a fire, none of it. Fortunately for him there are outhouses and showers here, because he’d rather not do Boy Scout things like Tommy used to tell him. About digging a hole to shit in and having to hide food in trees from animals. Shit like that. Sounds tedious, and Steve would rather just have a good time. With Billy. Already so many nerves build up in him. He just needs to relax! Have fun!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t the time to test Billy’s patience. Steve knows he does sometimes, just wants everything to go smoothly and for them to go swimming like Billy’d said they would. So when Billy parks as close as he can, backing up to a concrete stop near the site with the trunk facing them, Steve is ready to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool your jets,” Billy chuckles with a hand fisted in the back of Steve’s shirt, tugging him away from the open maw of the trunk. He reaches back in only to grab a lawn chair and hand it to Steve. “Here, just sit for a second while I pull everything out. This is a one-man kind of job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay… are you sure? I-I don’t mind, I wanna help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy spares a glance to their surroundings. Still no one here. Huffing a single laugh through his nose, he wraps his hand around the back of Steve’s neck and draws him close to kiss his forehead. The kiss doesn’t linger, and Billy is the one to gently nudge Steve away, lawn chair pressed into his chest to make sure he stays away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can help when I unload everything. For now, just sit and stay out of the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dismissal hurts, he admits it, but Steve does as he’s told. At least he can slap the chair down near Billy and still be close to him, spring up in a second to be useful. Which he does when Billy rises with the bundle of the tent in his arms and some poles come loose. He curses, trying to bat at them with his hand. Steve is there in a second, exploding out of the lawn chair, ready to be useful. Their legs brush as Steve slides up beside Billy and catches the wile poles before they make a mess of things. Billy shoots him a grin, and then Steve wiggles the poles the rest of the way out to hold them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Billy grunts, wrestling with the unruly tent. “‘Bout kicked them across the fuckin’ campsite. Knew I didn’t pack this tent right the last time I used it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve just shrugs and shuffles along with Billy to the bare patch of grass where clearly people have pitched tents over and over again. When Billy spills the tent wrapped up in itself to the ground, more poles inside banging together with hollow clangs, Steve falls to his knees beside Billy to help. The rest of the trunk needs unloading, but if Billy wants to deal with the tent now, Steve won’t object. Billy flicks plastic walls until the tent is flat and spread out where they want it. He stresses that they need to position the tent where they want it before they start hammering stakes into the ground. Steve doesn’t know how many yellow, plastic stakes had fallen out of the tent. He just corrals them and hands them off to Billy when they scoot around the edge of the tent to nail it to the earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That done, they stand, dust themselves off, and Billy shows him how to twist the poles together and insert them into loops in the tent walls. Like this, the steel slots into the tops of the stakes to hold the roof and walls up. Steve is in charge of shaking the material loose as Billy guides the poles where they need to go. They move together so easily, Steve never in the way or scrambling like he has to with his parents. For once, he is focused and feels so accomplished when they stand back. Billy’s hands squeeze his shoulders from behind, and they sigh over their success. Their brief moment of calm and touch fills Steve right up. If only he could twist under the big hands rubbing him through his shirt—well, another of Billy’s shirts actually—and return Billy’s affection. But another car has pulled up, no screaming children thank Jesus, but they can’t linger. Steve understands that despite his heart mourning the loss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good job, little man, we got that tent up in no time.” Billy groans while rubbing his fingers into his lower back. There’s a damp patch on his shirt where the dip of his spine is. “Can’t wait to swim when we get all this shit squared away with.” He shoots Steve a grin, washing away Steve’s unspoken concern about the wince on Billy’s face. His back must hurt. “You live ten minutes from the beach but never enjoy it, ain’t that how it goes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kinda like the pool at home being ready all summer but I don’t wanna use it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.” Billy winks, nudges Steve by a shoulder, and then gestures to everything else in the trunk waiting for them. “Okay, now everything else. This is the easy part, shouldn’t take too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re set up, changed into their swim trunks, and parked at the lot by the ‘beach’ within half an hour. ‘Beach’ because this isn’t a lake and this isn’t a beach. It’s a reservoir, Billy explains, so it’s man made. The sand here that makes up the ‘beach’ was brought here by trucks, is as natural as the reservoir stretching out dark blue before them. At least it doesn’t smell bad here. Steve recalls going to camp one summer and the lake he’d stayed at stunk day and night, certainly not for swimming. Recalling his last experience with an open body of water, how some boys in the cabin with him tended to mess with his stuff, Steve turns to Billy when they pick a spot to dump towels and beach gear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea?” Billy glances at him from behind a pair of sunglasses. The lenses are mirrored, so Steve can’t make out Billy’s eyes. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is anybody gonna mess with our stuff back at the campsite?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy shrugs, goes back to bending down to snatch up the sunblock. Mostly for Steve and his pasty skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s not a big risk of it, but I mean yea, theoretically it could happen, you sorta go by the honor system when you’re camping. Don’t touch my shit, and I won’t touch yours. That’s why I packed the coolers back in the car so at least the food and beer are safe. C’mere and let me get your back before you go tearing into the water. And let me know when you get hungry, cuz cooking with charcoal takes fucking forever and I have to baby the fire right at the beginning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t understand the latter half of that, but he whips Billy’s t-shirts off his body and turns around for sunscreen. It’s slimy and cold when Billy’s hand first rubs it over him, and then his clean hand appears over Steve’s shoulder, waggling the bottle at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, get the rest of you. I’ll get the back of your neck, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shivers already race up and down and all over his skin. He can’t help but bite his bottom lip and glance around, eyes hot. There are plenty of people around the sand and sun. It’s hotter here than it is at Billy’s apartment. Too far inland to benefit from the ocean breeze, land traps the heat until even the ground shimmers. Hopefully the night cools off. Steve shivers again like sweat doesn’t already bead on his naked upper lip. It’s Billy’s hands, the casual touches down his back no one bats an eye at because they’re clearly together. To anyone who might look at them, they’re clearly related. They’re too easy around each other. If only they knew, and the fact that they don’t and Steve does gets him excited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Billy flicks him in the shoulder. “Cover up, I’m not gonna have you whine all night because you broiled yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods, mumbles a, “Yes, Uncle Billy,” and does as he’s told. If Billy’s hand on his back stumbles for a second after his quiet words, no one mentions it. “Do, um, do you want me to get your back, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few breaths pass, and Billy’s hand on him does pause now. Steve’s hands smeared with sunblock that smells like baby powder and something chemical slow to a stop where they wipe over his arms and chest. Is that too much? Is the offer inappropriate? It’s not like Steve is a literal child and helping Billy would be illogical and maybe seen as problematic if people look too long and notice Steve and Billy look nothing alike. Maybe aren’t as related as previously thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy startles behind him, hand flinching on pale skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yea, buddy, you can help me, that’d be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t sound so sure, so Steve twists around despite Billy’s hand still on him. Jutting his chin out, Steve angles his uncertainty and insecurity into the mirrors of those sunglasses. It reflects right back at him, and Steve just has to hope that some of it reaches Billy. It must, because his wiry mouth curls into a smile, and then both hands take Steve’s shoulders. It’s an intimate caress again. Swept under the radar of the families around them. They’re in plain sight and nobody knows. Steve wishes it weren’t so thrilling…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Billy says nice and soft like they’re alone. Instantly, the tension stringing Steve’s shoulders taut slices clean and lets him relax, lets him take a breath. Billy even squeezes his shoulders like a reward. Good boy. “What’s with the long face, huh? You’re having a good time, yea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods hard enough to bounce the little wave of his hair in front of his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, I’m having lots of fun so far. I just…” He glances around at the other people, wishes he could speak his mind, tries to when he whispers, “I wish you could kiss me right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A corner of Billy’s mouth twitches up. At least he doesn’t shush Steve or try to scold him for speaking so honestly. Instead, his clean hand slips from Steve’s shoulder and dives into his hair, ruffling it in a playful sort of way. Only Steve notices Billy’s fingers caressing the shell of his ear when he pulls away, steps back. It sends a wild shiver down his spine. Only Billy does that to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too, Stevie,” drifts to him on the breeze rolling off the large, flat reservoir. Almost as an afterthought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heart light as a feather from just that, Steve saves all his love and desire for kisses and manly hands for later. For now, he enjoys slathering sunblock on Billy’s broad back. He revels in the sensation, the oily slide of his palms over the heat in Billy’s skin. It’s a taste of what will surely come tonight. There’s only one tent, after all. Two sleeping bags and two foam mats to maybe cushion them a little bit from the ground. But only one tent. And when they’d piled into the Camaro to come swim, no one claimed a campsite bordering theirs. Because of course Steve picked the lone one at the edge of the campgrounds where realistically only one other tent could intrude on their bubble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Head still filled with hopes for tonight, Steve barely reacts when Billy gives him the all clear to swim. He’ll probably still burn a bit in some spots, usually his face and the back of his neck. But that’s a problem for future Steve. Current Steve goes crashing into the water, yelps from the cold petting his oily skin and peaking his nipples, but a huge smile stretches his face anyway. Because Billy is hot on his heels, smirking like the devil himself, and Steve knows tonight will be wonderful. Whatever happens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other men are in the water and play with their kids or their nieces and nephews. And that’s what they are, in a way. Family. So Steve doesn’t shy away at all from Billy in the water. Why should he? They’re here to play and have fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you pick me up and throw me like you used in my pool?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see why not,” Billy drawls right back, sunglasses still perched on his nose. “You ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve bounces on his toes scraping the sandy bottom and crows, “Throw me! Throw me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The water they stand in is only waist deep. They back up a bit until water laps at their thighs and no higher. Steve launches himself at Billy, and thick arms catch him with a grunt. Billy wades back into deeper water where it’s safer to throw Steve. It’s not as easy as it used to be what with Steve almost as tall as Billy now. Still, Billy makes the best effort, sways Steve with arms under his knees and shoulders to build up momentum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On three. One, two…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But of course Billy throws him on two. Steve doesn’t get far, but he squeals during his airtime and then splashes through the blue-brown water. At the surface, his call echoes off the rocks and trees surrounding the edge of the reservoir. It’s barely a few seconds of muffled water churning in his ears, peaceful darkness behind his lids, and then the water spits him back to the surface. He can’t wave his arms and kick off the bottom towards Billy fast enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy snorts, probably rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses, and then scoops Steve up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got about two more in me and then I’m done, you hear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve sasses, “Yea okay,” and then is all screams again when Billy hurls him like a stone, grunting with the exertion this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve leaves off after that, chest and side sort of sore from smacking into the smooth surface of the water. There is wind here, taking advantage of the flat, wide expanse of the reservoir with nothing in the way to break up its energy. But the water isn’t choppy, no motorized vehicles allowed, so the water is clean. Mostly clean, as Steve is sure the gaggle of kids screaming at the other end of the beach probably just piss themselves instead of getting out. Steve makes a face in their direction, disgust curling his pretty lips, and then Billy floats casually by him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s got your trunks in a bunch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knees bent to lower himself in the water, Steve kicks his feet to bob closer to Billy. Water laps over him, pools where his muscles meet in little pockets of space. Steve almost slips a hand above the water to brush the pools away, actually lets his fingers breach the surface. He thinks better about it with people too close. What he really wants is to hang all over Billy while they drift around in the water. He recalls from a few summers ago, Billy flying in for something. Something with Mom and Dad. But he’d hung out with Steve in the pool during the day while both parents were busy. No need for a babysitter with Uncle Billy around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d taken to the pool, and after throwing him around, Steve sort of clung to Billy’s chest with his legs loosely curled around his narrow waist. Enjoying the weightlessness, enjoying the way he could float on his back and Billy would drag him around. He misses that, the ease of touch in front of others. Sort of along the lines of missing touch in general…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ground Control to Major Stevie, did you hear me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve startles low in the water, wetness brushing his chin, and he nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, sorry, I was just looking at those kids over there and thinking they probably pee in the water. Cuz they’re gross little kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunglasses again prevent Steve from knowing what exactly Billy is looking at. But his thin lips twist like Steve’s had, and Steve’s melancholy melts a little knowing that Billy agrees with him. Kids are the worst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea, if they start roaming away from the adults in charge of them, we can swim out to the floaters that mark off the swimming area.” Billy lifts a hand out of the water to jerk his thumb behind him. “You know, I’ve never actually seen you swim for real… You know how to, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a pool,” Steve points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, that don’t mean shit.” Now Billy rights himself in the water, legs slipping smoothly beneath the surface, and he flicks a hand to shore. “Lemme see you get some laps in. Swim to shore and back. And not doggy paddle, I wanna see you actually swim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve grumbles and groans, thinks about insisting he’s not stupid. But it’s not about his intelligence. That’s just his gut reaction whenever someone talks to him like this. It’s better than Billy treating him like a kid, he guesses. Huffing as Billy stares him down, Steve shuffles to face the shore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. But you better swim out there with me after.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal, now swim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course Steve knows how to swim. He’d thought about trying out for the swim team when school starts in September, but apparently it’s fiercely competitive for spots. Steve likes swimming, thinks he’s good at it, but not competitive-good. Relaxed swimming like this with Billy is more his speed. Does Steve have perfect form? No, that would be silly, but he rolls through a few different techniques that </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> right, gets to the shallows, and then repeats the motions all over again to return to Billy waiting for him. Steve touches bottom when he rises to stand beside Billy in the water. It’s up to their chests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You worn out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breathing hard but not short of breath, Steve shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy considers him a moment more, face neutral. When Steve is just about to whine that he’d done as he was told, that Billy said ‘deal,’ those wicked lips finally smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I guess you pass,” he drawls. “You have to tell me if you get tired on the swim out or back. It’s farther than you think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve has nothing to say to that, just slips forward with a kick when Billy leads the way. It’s easier, he thinks, for them to be around each other when they’re not talking. Silence suits them, since Billy hates people being noisy anyway. The thought had struck him on the roundtrip back to Billy while demonstrating his swimming prowess. That the longer he’s here with Billy the more he realizes the gap between them. How whenever he hears Billy speak to other adults, either to their faces or on the phone as he cooks in the kitchen, that adults just have a cadence with each other. Something they all know without thinking, without hesitation. And Steve can only grasp at it like a child trying to paw something away from the adult table at Thanksgiving. So no matter how Billy treats him, Steve is left with this inadequacy. It sours him even as they pass the drop-off of the artificial beach and reach the yellow, floating line that marks the swimming area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy drapes his powerful arms over the floater and looks out over the reservoir stretching into the distance. When Steve paddles up beside him, sort of rests his hands on the yellow line bobbing, Billy murmurs, “It’s a lot quieter out here, yea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hoisting himself higher out of the water and leaning more on the floater, Billy adds casually, “I used to come here with friends when I was younger. We’d camp, swim, get drunk, all that shit. It was nice to come here in the middle of the week without the families and screaming kids messing it up. But this is still nice.” He turns his head, barely even flushed from the heat, smiling in that soft way of his. “I’m glad I brought you here so you could see it. I hope you’re having a good time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve wants so badly to go back to the elation he’d felt charging into the water. Steve hates this hot and cold shit his emotions have been doing since the whole Johnny affair earlier this week. Johnny just made Steve question his place in Billy’s world, and now he doesn’t know how to get back to where he was: so secure in his love. Why does he still have to question this? Something on his face must bleed through, wearing his heart on his sleeve like he does, because Billy pinches the arm of his sunglasses and pushes them up his face to rest in his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay? Been real quiet since I made you show me you can swim. You upset about that or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lips rolling into a thin line, Steve braces himself on the yellow floater and casts a glance over his shoulder. No one else is around, the closest people also bobbing on the yellow marker but way down at the other end. A splash to his left, Billy, and Steve whips his head back around. Water laps up his neck like it does on Steve as Billy drags himself closer with his hands mirroring Steve’s on the floater. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mere…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t know what for, just allows one of Billy’s hands to slip under the water and grab him around his back. Billy tugs him close, but not for what Steve thinks. No, not a kiss, but to push his chest against the bobbing floater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haul yourself up and sit on it, you won’t sink, it won’t let you. Just don’t tip too much or you’ll fall on the other side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve already shoves his hands onto the top of the floater so he can swing his ass around when he stutters, “Is-is that bad? If I’m on the other side?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like there is something living in the reservoir that will bite him or drag him into the depths. But only if he strays out of bounds. It only occurs to Steve now that there are many feet of dark water beneath him. This is not a pool, obviously, but his mind had treated it like one. He doesn’t like to let his legs go too deep anyway, because the cold pocket makes him flinch and his heart race. Something could be lurking there. Waiting to snatch any unsuspecting swimmer and acquaint them with the muddy bottom. Steve tries to tuck his legs up higher, but it upsets his balance and sends his arms flailing. Billy is warm along his left leg that kicks out. He regains balance on the floaters, and then Billy’s hand curls around the top of his calf. Unseen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t too difficult now, was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy flicks his sunglasses back out of his hair. Or at least tries to. One of the nose pieces rudely tangles in a curl and yanks on it. Cursing, Billy has to lift the sunglasses completely off his head, treading water with only his legs, and then delicately unwind his hair from the nose piece. Steve doesn’t even have to shove amusement down while watching. He feels nothing, just hollow. It’s not a good feeling, and he thinks Billy knows it’s happening when mirrored lenses glance up at him. At least Billy’s hand returns to cup the back of his leg, sort of massaging his calf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” he grumbles, “What’s up, Stevie? What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve shrugs but immediately knows that’s not good enough. That Billy won’t let that slide. Still, the older man leans closer, secure in the knowledge no one can see what they’re doing, and kisses Steve’s waist. It peeks above the waterline so long as Steve isn’t flailing about. That perks him up, Billy touching him in the open like this, and Steve loosens the cork on what he’s feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, I just…” He huffs and flops his arms in the water, splashing. “I was so happy when we first got in the water, and then when we swam out here I was thinking how, I guess I’m scared I’m not good enough to be with you? If that makes sense?” He risks a glance down, grateful Billy is not in front of him so he has an excuse to not make eye contact. But Billy’s sunglasses deny him now the same as they’ve denied him every other time. Steve sighs and adds, “I guess sometimes I remember you’re older than me, and I just don’t wanna sound lame to you, but I know I do sometimes. I just wanna be with you and make you happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hand curled around the back of his leg tightens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who said I’m not happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no one, but—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s hand relaxes and goes sliding higher. Steve almost startles, but his delicate balance doesn’t allow it. So he sits stone still while Billy’s flat hand skates the few inches up until he hits the hem of Steve’s trunks. It slides right under, fingers massaging his inner thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives a full-body shiver and a quiet, “Uncle Billy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Billy’s fingers slide any higher, they’ll slip into the crotch of the swim trunks, and Steve may have a problem that will have to go down to return to shore. He gives a wiggle all the same, always hungry for whatever attention Billy will give him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy murmurs lowly despite their moderate privacy, “It’ll be impossible to completely forget our age difference, Steve. We’re too far apart for it to ever not be obvious.” His fingers dent Steve’s thigh, unseen inside the leg of his trunks. Head angled up, Billy probably looks right at him, but Steve stares at the distant shore. “But don’t… worry about that so much. It’s never really far from my mind that you’re 17 and you’re gonna do some dumb 17-year-old shit, okay? Am I excited for you to grow up and be more mature about shit? Yea, of course I am. Is it gonna happen overnight? No. So”—Billy shrugs, takes up massaging Steve’s inner thigh even though Steve squirms under his touch—“don’t get so hung up about it. I like you for who you are, Steve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of Steve’s playfulness emerges from his depths when he mutters, “Only ‘like?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheeky,” Billy huffs under his breath, pinches Steve’s thigh for good measure. “I love you, brat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve so desperately wants to touch Billy back, but the risk of someone seeing is too much. Billy is suave enough to do it. Someone would surely catch Steve reciprocating. Later. Later, later, it can all wait until later when they’re alone. Steve doesn’t melt under all this insecurity when it’s just the two of them. The outside world stops existing for a little while when they’re alone together. He’s not a lame 17 year old and Billy isn’t old enough to be his dad when they’re alone—not that their ages have ever bothered Steve, he just understands the reality of it. But when they’re alone, they’re just Billy and Steve and they love each other. That’s all that matters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, Uncle Billy,” he says quietly, still wishing he could touch Billy back. “I really wanna kiss you right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From below comes a deeply purred, “Do you ever not want to kiss me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That coaxes a smile out of him, sadness set aside until the next time it rears its ugly head, and Steve laughs, “Not really, no. I like kissing you. A lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One more squeeze to his thigh, hard enough to almost hurt, and then Billy’s hand leaves him. Billy leaves him, actually, kicks himself through the water towards shore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get out of here and go start dinner, then. Can’t exactly do that with all these people around, can we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, if only they could skip dinner and just close themselves up in the tent. It’s too hot for that, though. As Steve trails behind Billy, he dreads how hot the night will be. The AC of Billy’s apartment is truly a luxury, and Steve misses it already. Hopefully the land will cool once the sun goes down, although that won’t be for hours yet. They’ll have food to keep them busy, and Billy has brought an extension cord and a boombox, his music. It’s something Steve has wanted to explore more—Billy’s tastes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve suspects they couldn’t be more different in regards to music, probably everything else too. But that’s what this vacation is for: to get to know each other better and spend time together. Because Steve wants them to stay together for a long time and love each other long after these halcyon days. He doesn’t want them to fizzle out like Mom and Dad. It’s a burning question always tiptoeing around in his mind—will Billy love him as he grows up? He wants to ask, but them collecting their things from the sand and making for the showers nearby doesn’t allow for it. Later. Everything can wait until later.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just when Billy was maybe climbing back into the good graces of some of you lolol. He's a disaster of an adult. Poor Steve. And yet? There is worse to come! Oh yes, friends, The Reveal happens next chapter.</p><p>This chapter also has a deleted scene. I wanted Steve to go exploring while Billy is cooking (because cooking while you're camping always seems to take twice as long). I wanted him to wander the woods and stumble across a mountain lion's kill. And get freaked out, because it never occurred to him that mountain lions lived around the campsite LOL. But Billy convinces him to calm down and stay, but Steve can't sleep. AND THEN this chapter picks up from there. But the word count was already starting to get away from me, and it didn't really add anything to the conflict of the story. So I cut it. Anyway =3c enjoy. Make sure you let me know juuust how angry you are with Billy lol.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As clean as they can be after soaping up at the showers, they return to the campsite with nothing disturbed or out of place. The cluster of campsites in the clearing are fuller, now. Still no one claims the spot near them, their own little island. Steve hopes, so late on this Friday, that no one will show up to take it. Because of course his mind turns to tonight: the one tent, the sleeping bags, all of that. Steve is ready for intimacy with Billy again after being so chaste with each other. Because of the whole Johnny thing. Steve wants to touch and wants to be touched again. If Billy will have him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Steve tries to stay out of the way and not annoy Billy as Billy tends to charcoal and meat and aluminum foil he’d folded around the food he cooked back at the apartment. The only things that are raw that absolutely need the fire are burgers and brats. Steve doesn’t have the mind for any of this and so just sits with his legs curled up in the lawn chair beside Billy and inhabits the space to Billy’s right. All through Billy cursing at the fire, cursing at untangling the extension cord for music, and then cursing some more when the charcoal takes even longer to burn down, Steve simply exists. And smiles at Billy whenever blue eyes look his way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy slumps into his own lawn chair, boneless and tired, and cracks open a beer without looking at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t wait for this food to hurry up and cook, fuck I’m tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve squirms in the chair, winces when the woven plastic bites at his thighs. It will leave criss-cross marks where he sits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you? Want any help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy waves away Steve’s words with his right hand while the left is busy holding his beer to his lips. Steve is a glutton as he watches Billy’s throat work over every gulp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling off with a grimace and shiver, Billy wedges the can between his thighs and drawls, “Nah, one-man kind of job. We only need one of us fucking this up, right little man?” He winks, sunglasses discarded somewhere so Steve meets blue eyes this time. “Just sit back, enjoy the music, and enjoy the outdoors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only the chair pinches and scratches him, Billy’s music is too brash in Steve’s ears, and the outdoors suck. Steve wants to douse himself in bug spray, but they don’t have any. And he’s already clean—as clean as he’ll get. And he’d taken care in the showers back at the reservoir to be… extra diligent in his washing. So he doesn’t want to ruin all that planning and hoping with the sour-bitterness of bug spray all over him. So instead, Steve steals another shirt from the plastic bag of clothes he slapped together and just loops it around his neck like a towel. Bugs may land and bite him elsewhere, but if he can just keep his ears and neck clear of the nuisance, he’ll be fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s waiting for the heat of the day to crash so he can finally stop sweating. Ever since stepping out of the showers at the reservoir, he’s been damp nonstop. Nursing the glass Coke bottle sort of nestled between his legs like Billy’s beer only takes the edge off. Mixing in a water is probably a good idea, but he’d rather have what Billy’s having. Heat from the grill brushes Steve’s way, stifling breeze carrying it, and he sweats all the more while watching Billy drink. Billy catches him—or maybe Steve wants to be caught—and thin lips purse at the opening of the can. Considering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gonna be a square and tell on me if I give you a beer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve perks right up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who-who would I tell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyebrows waggle at him while Billy digs through ice to heft a beer in his hand. He pops the tab one-handed and offers it over the other cooler nestled between their chairs. Only to fake Steve out at the last second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy doesn’t have to lead him, because Steve already knows he’ll tell no one. His head flops up and down, but he controls it after doing it twice. Cool, be cool, Billy’s not handing him a fucking popsicle, it’s a beer. Just be cool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pft, I’m not gonna tell anyone. It’s none of their business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t elaborate on who ‘they’ are, but it’s understood that Steve’s parents are at least at the top of the list. He’ll probably tell Tommy at some point, but he tells Tommy almost everything so. And there’s no harm telling Tommy and Carol his cool Uncle Billy let him have a beer. It’s right in line with the mystery of Billy. Or at least Tommy thinks so. Every time Steve talks about him, it’s all Tommy wants to hear. Steve huffs while accepting the cool can, recalling how Tommy used to be gaga over him too back when they’d first met in kindergarten. You couldn’t separate them if your life depended on it, Tommy glued to him and following him everywhere… Tommy is still like that now, only Carol distracts him more for obvious reasons. Still… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Stevie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s mouth screws up with fondness, but he reels it in. Beside him, Billy cranes forward with his feet flat on the ground to roll brats around the grill sticking out of the ground on a pole. Billy had to scrape all the black gunk off it before building the charcoal fire under it, glaring and grumbling the whole time about ‘lazy fucking morons.’ Whatever that was about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meat sizzles as it hits hot grill </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shoot buddy, lay it on me.” Billy’s free hand twirls in the air for a few flicks of his wrist before he cups said hand near his ear. “I’m listening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so playful, so </span>
  <b>his</b>
  <span> Billy that Steve has to fight the fondness in his mouth. What had he even wanted to ask again? … Oh yea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking about Tommy just now, how we’ve been friends forever and he always followed me around when we were kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy nods and hums while relaxing back into the chair. The burgers and brats are no longer shades of raw. They’ll be done soon. Billy sighs over the static of cooking and the general din of noise around them. Steve hopes it’s quieter when they sleep. All the noise will spook him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um…” Steve’s voice turns quieter with his thoughts so no one overhears him. “Why do you think that like… I never had a crush on him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Empty Coke bottle at his feet, Steve’s fingers tighten over the top of the beer can. He hasn’t taken a sip yet, his thoughts too distracting and also too excited to taste beer for the first time. So he’s wedged it between his thighs for now. Mirroring Billy. He only sips when Billy hums and considers something in the distance in front of him. Steve flinches while Billy gathers his thoughts. Oh, it’s gross… That’s disappointing. Sort of refreshing because he’s sweating so much, but when Steve finishes swallowing, the aftertaste is socks and dirty water. How does Billy knock back can after can of this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good question, little man. I don’t really know. I know I’ve made jokes about it before, and I honestly thought you two were fooling around. You know how boys do, it doesn’t mean anything, you show me yours and I’ll show you mine. That’s how it started for me before I realized I never wanted to play that game with girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve can’t imagine Billy his age or younger, coyly pulling his pants down to ‘show his.’ Because yea, Steve has done that before, and heat creeps under the mild sunburn in his cheeks when he thinks about it. He’s never wanted to like… touch the other guy, though. Just Billy. He’s only ever wanted one other guy, and that’s Billy. Still, it seems like everything was there for him and Tommy to sort of fall into that. It confuses him why the dice didn’t roll that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy glances at him in the ensuing silence, picking up on his confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you? Wanna fool around with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve grimaces at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, gross, he’s my best friend. And I’m sort of taken already? Duh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s teeth are white behind his grin and the lip of his beer can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying,” he laughs. He sets the beer back down and then snatches up a plate. The first one has a burger bun on it, the second sitting on the cooler next to him has a hotdog bun. Billy serves him first. “Careful holding the bottom unless you wanna burn the shit out of your fingers. But anyway, don’t sweat it too much, Stevie. If there was something there, you’da figured it out by now. If it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t meant to be, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess. Just seems weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those broad shoulders shrug. Billy hasn’t put a shirt on since showering. Steve won’t complain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes it just works out. If you believe in fate and that bullshit, then it wasn’t meant to be. But my guess is that Tommy is just straight and you two are just good friends. Him being your friend is better than nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Definitely. He and Tommy are thick as thieves, and sometimes Steve doesn’t know where he’d be without Tommy. Certainly not as cool without Tommy to back him up, even if it would inflate Tommy’s ego to bursting if he knew. Steve hopes when they start school in September that he and Tommy have a lot of classes together. They won’t know until the first day. At least they’ll have lunch together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s slightly-okay cooking proves its consistency here. There’s ketchup and mustard in the cooler between them, and Steve balances everything on his thighs while trying to doctor the charred patty. He’ll blame it on the charcoal or the dirty grill rather than face the truth. It’s better than going hungry. The rest of the night is a slow, boring pace for Steve. He doesn’t see the appeal of sitting around doing nothing but drinking and listening to music. Billy isn’t much for conversation, and the burn from Steve’s earlier insecurity stings even now. Even the few times Steve tries, Billy’s replies trail off and leave Steve with nothing to build on. Not that he’s any better at small talk than Billy. Only Billy doesn’t seem to care that they’re bad at it. So, occasionally twitching and slapping at the tickle of bugs landing on him, Steve slouches into the lawn chair and waits for night to come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Among the effects Billy had packed back at the apartment, a flashlight struck Steve as an odd choice at the time. What use would they have for it? They wouldn’t be walking around in the dark. Night falls gradually and then all at once in this sort of valley, though, so when Steve stands to make one last trip to the bathroom before bed, Billy slaps the flashlight into his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you need to get up in the middle of the night, make sure you take this with you. And don’t lean against a tree to piss or anything, you do not want poison ivy on your ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A laugh snorts out of Steve, amused and fond at the pointed way Billy looks at him. Like he’d be silly enough to do that, but Billy wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. So he takes the damn flashlight and holds his breath while slipping into the outhouses across the parking lot from the campgrounds. It’s the flies that are the worst, Steve decides with the collar of Billy’s t-shirt hooked over his nose to breathe. They’re huge, bloated things that make an impact when they slam into you. Steve bursts out with a muffled groan when he’s done, just happy to not be sweating in a shit box anymore. He longs for the frigid sheets of Billy’s bed, of burrowing against his chest when the cold gets too much. But oh well. He’ll have to make due with the heat lingering after sundown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you, um… going to bed anytime soon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve stands at the mouth of the tent, sort of popping a heel in and out of his sneaker, wanting to step in but not drag anything into the tent. Billy slouches even more than before as he nurses a cigarette he must have lit after Steve walked away. There’s not much natural light left, but pale, blue light spills onto the campgrounds from wooden poles around the parking lot. Steve can’t imagine the pitch black darkness of, say, camping deep in the woods like Tommy’s boy scout troop once had. That situation called for a flashlight. Or a bonfire that lasted all night at least. Steve isn’t even especially afraid of the dark. Out here though? Anything could be out here. He’d rather have Billy with him, because Billy won’t let anything happen to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grey smoke streaming through his tight lips, Billy waves him on with, “Nah, probably not. I will though, don’t worry. Don’t hog the sleeping bags or you’ll regret it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says it with a wink, though. Steve offers him a weak smile in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Billy leans over to the cooler with a few beers left and is already popping one open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a night owl, what can I say? Don’t worry about me, little man, I’ll come in when I’m ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When I’m ready’ is some unknown, dark hour later. The night is thick with the buzzing of bugs, distant animals that also claim the night. And Billy who stumbles in, grumbling and covered in the sour scent of beer. He must have sat there and drank a few more. Steve startles when the tent shakes around him with Billy’s uncoordinated movements. Steve doesn’t know where he is upon first waking, and his panic rises wild and afraid in him, makes him blurt out some startled noise. Billy’s palm finds his lips in the dark, though, and then Billy is entirely too close to him for how warm the night is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, shhh, you’re gonna… you’re gonna wake everybody up yellin’ like that. It’s just me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A laugh weaves through Billy’s voice as he makes himself comfortable nearly on top of Steve. It takes him longer than it should to slide his hand damp with sweat from Steve’s face. And just when Steve had finally stopped sweating, finally rolled into the dry spot in the sleeping bag. Billy’s radiant body heat has his neck itching with sweat after barely a few seconds. His neck tingles and burns, too, when Billy presses biting kisses to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first two pass without a thought. Steve’s body only tunes into Billy’s weight half-pinning him and teeth worrying the delicate skin of his throat after the third kiss. He trembles and goes to let out a moan, loud like they’re in Billy’s bedroom. Billy’s right hand cups around his mouth to guide the sound back inside him. Steve’s pretty mouth secure, Billy pulls away with one, vicious tug of teeth that pinches his skin. Steve bucks hard under that bulk but ultimately only shakes Billy on top of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lips nuzzle the lobe of his ear next, hum tickling him when Billy murmurs, “Quiet, baby boy.” Blunt teeth nip him, Billy smirks at the whimper muffled under his hand. “Been thinkin’ about touching you all fuckin’ day.” Billy bears his weight harder into Steve. He catches a soft moan this time. “You gonna let me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve nods his head as best he can with Billy’s hand over his mouth. When Billy takes his hand away a moment later, Steve whispers into the dark, “Please, please Uncle Billy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take your clothes off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy has to get off him to do that. He does completely after a suckling kiss to his lobe. Steve never thought a kiss to his ear could feel like that, helping him firm up under Billy’s thigh. He wants that pressure back immediately when Billy takes it away. Billy will give it to him again. Steve just needs to be quiet and get his clothes off as fast as possible. While Steve does that, Billy rolls to the other sleeping bag and fusses with the plastic bags with their clothes. Steve hopes Billy isn’t looking for his cigarettes and lighter, doesn’t want to be stuck in a tent full of smoke. But whatever Billy finds—pleased hum when he stops rustling in the bags—it’s not a cigarette or a lighter. No spark or cherry glow in the night. Steve settles down on his back, naked as he’d been told, when Billy climbs back on top of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not lying on top of him, though. No, hovering on his elbows and knees in the thin mat under Steve. Only warm puffs of air over Steve’s lips prelude Billy taking him in a kiss and licking him open. It’s the sort of aggression and possessiveness that Billy has yet to display, although Steve had always sort of hoped he would. Especially after Johnny. So Steve relaxes his jaw and bobs his head with Billy to give back as much as he gets. Steve’s hands startle to life where they lie prone at his sides. Slim fingers don’t hesitate to thread through lazy curls to hold Billy to him. Billy leans that much more into their kisses, caging Steve’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve manages to stifle his gasp when Billy pulls back. Steve’s tongue isn’t even in his mouth, but it doesn’t matter with Billy’s hand slipping forward to cup Steve’s jaw. The pad of that thumb presses down just as Steve’s tongue goes zipping back in his mouth. His lip smears all over Billy’s thumb only for it to glide past them and into Steve’s mouth. Without a thought, Steve’s lips close around Billy’s thumb. It brings so much heat to his face to do it, but he wants to tease Billy back, and so sucks gently on his thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Billy breathes somewhere above him. There’s just enough light to separate Billy’s silhouette from the darkness. Not enough to find his eyes. “Fuck, baby boy, wish I could see your face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve wishes that too, whines around Billy’s thumb and bobs his head a little. The rest of Billy’s fingers twitch where they curl over the edge of Steve’s short jaw. A ragged breath shakes the air between them when Billy slides his thumb free of that tempting heat. Steve tries to give chase, but Billy shushes him. His thumb is wet when he pets over Steve’s bottom lip instead, stops whenever Steve tries to swallow him down. Ever so slightly above him, Billy’s wrist glows with a beep. Midnight. For that brief interlude in the darkness, Steve spies the shadows of Billy’s face above him. And Billy his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is warm, humming chuckles above him and then just as amused, “It’s crazy how much you look like your dad, Stevie. Not the hair, that’s all Theresa.” And then a gentle kiss to his cheek, tip of a nose nuzzling him after. “You’re all Bobby in the face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside him, Steve’s heart jolts with a skipped beat. Partially because Billy keeps right on kissing down his jaw to his throat and nibbles the skin he finds there. Mostly, though, because the comment is off. Billy’s never mentioned Dad before while they were kissing. The last time Billy mentioned the comparison was all the way back at Christmas. Since then Billy has been nothing but an outspoken supporter of Steve not growing up to be his parents. He’s nothing like them, will never be like them. So why the comment again about Steve’s looks? Billy sucks harder at a mark, hand not supporting his weight skating down Steve’s chest. Steve puts his discomfort aside for now. He can’t think about this when Billy’s thick fingers draw back up to drum and pluck at a nipple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep quiet, boy, or I’ll stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s hand at his mouth provides almost the same amount of cover as Billy’s. Not the same pressure, but at least the same muffling. Steve’s only other defense from lips suckling marks at his collarbones and Billy pinching him hard is to try and stop the noises in their tracks. So Steve just cracks his fingers to let him pant between them. If he can’t contain a noise bubbling up his throat, then he can clamp down again to catch it. It’s simple and doesn’t make each frantic inhale and exhale rush so loudly through his nose. Like a dull roar. It must please Billy, his effort, because he gives a tiny hum while sliding down Steve’s chest. He’s seen this in magazines from Tommy’s brother. Heard Tommy talk about doing this to Carol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thin lips kissing his other nipple from warm softness to buzzing harness make him want to sob. Tommy couldn’t have described the thrill of it. The roll of his stomach like he’s missed a step doing down, how everything between his legs tightens until it hurts. Oh god, and then Billy opens his mouth and laps his tongue over and over that tiny bud. Only for those same wicked lips to seal around him. Steve needs both hands slapped over his mouth to catch his cry when gentle pressure sucks at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doe eyes that are nearly sightless anyway roll back in Steve’s head. He jerks and arches his chest when Billy pinches and sucks to the same rhythm. All that attention turns mean at the same time, too, Billy rolling Steve’s nipple between his rough fingers while also pinching him with harsh teeth, pulling away until skin snaps back to his chest. Steve’s next cry is a broken whine as his chest caves in on itself, too tender to take more. He’s already hard and rubbing a wet smear wherever he grazes Billy’s warm body hovering just above him. And all Billy has done is play with his chest like he’s a girl or something. Jesus, why does it feel so good?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve floats after the intensity lowers and then mellows. Billy has moved on, he thinks, but he can’t think of anything while his heart thunders in his lips, his fingertips. Maybe in his dick too, he doesn’t know, is so painfully hard and Billy hasn’t touched him there yet. All ten fingers dig into Steve just below his collarbones and then drag down his torso. Billy clips his nails to the quick, so it’s just blunt fingertips chasing Billy’s head. Steve startles when those broad shoulders bully between his trembling thighs. It’s either hug Billy’s shoulders with them or maybe hike his knees over them. The opportunity to clear his head and make a choice shatters when lips wrap around him again. Another new sensation, his cock pushing into a warm mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve can’t quite catch his gasped, “Uncle Billy!” It slips right through his fingers and into the night. He stops the next moan, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the next one after that as Billy skips all manner of teasing here and presses his face all the way down to the wisp of pubic hair Steve has. Again, he’s insanely proud of it. Billy doesn’t struggle even for a second to take him all the way. It’s a comfortable fit, Billy able to hum even with his nose in black hair. Steve about bucks off the ground, but Billy’s hands smash him back down just as the ripple of energy vibrates out. Billy knows instantly what that sensation does to him, plays him like a fiddle until his strings are about to break. Steve’s chest bows up, about to snap, when Billy holds him down and bobs his head faster. It’s the drag of his lips maybe, or the wet heat, something. At one moment, Steve pants harder than ever in his life. The next he is breathless and white hot all over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shocking and snapping like firecrackers exploding, those first pulses of his orgasm rattle Steve’s whole body. Billy doesn’t stumble once, swallows him without a flinch. It only wrangles another hard jolt inside him. Gushing all the more in Billy’s mouth, trembling something awful where he boxes Billy in tight between his thighs. It’s only now that Steve tunes in to just how hard he’s holding his hands over his mouth. They’d shifted some, and Steve sank his teeth into the meat of his right thumb. Air brushing some of the teeth indents stings when Steve pulls away, leaving wetness behind. He shivers even harder when Billy sits up and takes his mouth away, humming all the way up his shaft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world goes topsy turvy while he drifts. Every inch of him tingles. He could fall asleep. Billy is probably aroused, too, and Steve never wants to be the one who doesn’t give back. Carol complains about that to anyone who will listen to shame Tommy. Steve doesn’t want to be like that for Billy. So he fights the allure of sleep and gives a pretty whisper of a whine when Billy’s arms curl around him and lift him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The slide of Billy’s warm skin between his thighs jolts him. No pain, just startled. He’s in Billy’s lap? Billy is also naked under him. When had Billy shucked his jeans he was wearing earlier? Was he naked the entire time? Steve’s head swims back and forth as Billy balances the teenager on his knees. Knees still feeble after his orgasm. Steve lists forward and cuddles up against Billy’s chest. Even if it’s too hot in here, no breeze like outside. Steve encircles Billy’s neck and hides his face there. Whatever Billy is doing to him now, he’s fine with it so long as Billy holds him like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The snap of a cap. A sigh in his hair. Shuffling of Billy’s arm between them, golden skin brushing Steve’s. And then another jolt from Steve as blunt fingertips so slippery and smooth nudge between his cheeks. The gentle circling of his hole is not foreign in the least. Steve has come again and again to Billy purring commands to him over the phone, playing inside. But Billy has never touched him here, no one has but himself, and it makes him want to turn shy. Steve’s thighs tremble where they spread around Billy’s lap. He’ll have to sit down and closer if Billy is going to…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Oh, of course. Billy is touching him like this to get him ready. They talk about it all the time, how Billy wants Steve to fuck himself on those thick fingers. How much Steve wants to do that, wants to know just how different it is when someone else does it. Steve trembles like he’ll fall apart right now against Billy’s chest. Billy doesn’t try to force more on him, though. Just pets him in gentle circles. Billy even lets him rock a little to a rhythm, but Billy’s other arm is slung low on Steve’s hips. It won’t let him go buck wild.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lips tickle his ear, almost make him jump when they ask, “Is this okay, baby boy? I wanna fuck you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beer drifts on Billy’s breath, but the heady words are better than Steve could hope for. Billy had said it first. Or sort of asked him first. Steve didn’t have to be the one to beg Billy to do it. Which is how it feels sometimes. Steve knows Billy just likes to hear him say dirty things. It’s a constant battle to remind himself of that every time he feels a pang of sadness. Like Billy doesn’t want him or something. But no, Steve couldn’t be more wrong. He shifts down to rub himself against Billy’s fingers. He wants them to press past the breaking point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Head swimming, Steve leaves it tucked to Billy’s neck and nods, gives a hum of pleasure to drive it home. How embarrassing that he turns shy now. He’d agreed so vigorously with Billy about wanting to see his face while they touched. Now the darkness is a blessing. With his face pressed to Billy’s neck in the dark, no one will see. Billy may certainly feel the flames in Steve’s cheek when Billy twists a slick finger into him. He’s long past the point of pain or discomfort with one, measly finger. Steve rocks with Billy’s careful rhythm to drive the point home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It must be lube on Billy’s fingers. It’s too slick and loud with two fingers inside Steve to be saliva. And it’s not oily like vaseline. It’s embarrassing, the reason he knows what this feels like. Out of anger for his parents leaving him alone on a weekend when they had promised they would be home. Steve sought his revenge while sneaking into their bedrooms and going through their things. The parental suites are off limits, sacred. But Steve ransacked the place and discovered cigarettes in his Dad’s sock drawer, a romance novel Mom certainly didn’t buy herself. And lube and condoms in Dad’s nightstand. And he may have slipped out of Dad’s room with the lube in hand to try it. He’s never told Billy. It’s his little secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy never needs to know, and Steve finds that yes, it does feel different when someone else thrusts inside him. He has no control over how hard Billy will go, how fast, the angle, none of that. Steve does hop faster with a pout when Billy just darts those two fingers barely inside him. Playing with how tight he is. He’s hard again, trapped sort of bent and smashed between them. It doesn’t hurt yet, although he is still sensitive from the first orgasm. He wants to come with Billy in him, knows without a doubt he’ll take every thick inch of him. Steve’s jaw aches in sympathy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gently rocking up and down on two fingers and Billy’s thumb wedged in along with them, Steve whimpers, “More, I want more, Uncle Billy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush, baby, need you to stay quiet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve curls up against that broad chest and whispers, “Please fuck me, Uncle Billy, I promise I’ll be a-a good boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone could wake up and hear them. Someone could be awake right now. It’s a risk like Billy sliding his hand up Steve’s trunks at the reservoir. The risk of discovery. That risk and the dark make Steve bold enough to say it. Implying he’ll be Billy’s good boy. Like he always is when things get heavy between them. It’s all Steve wants is to be good and desired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s fingers are gone with a tight glide and a wince from Steve. He’s probably not ready, but fuck it, he’s waited so long for this. Billy’s hands leave him long enough to slap around for more lube and to slick himself up. Steve wobbles on his knees, nothing but his hands gripping Billy’s shoulders keeping him upright. He wonders if Billy will wear a condom or not. He’d worn one with Johnny. Plus the mess will be annoying if, for once, Steve manages to make Billy come. Just as Steve organizes the thought in his mouth to ask, Billy’s arm slips back around him. And something hot nudges against his hole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on to me, baby, and keep quiet.” Billy shivers against him. Pressure increases below, Billy surely guiding them together. He whispers under his breath, “Bet you look so pretty with a dick in you, huh Stevie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve’s teeth sink into his bottom lip when Billy does just that. His body fights it, tries to strain and tense to keep Billy out. But a shiver runs through Steve at all the heat and skin rubbing him, a new sensation. And he likes all the new sensations with Billy. They make him feel good. This one will, too, so Steve sucks down a huge breath and relaxes enough to welcome the fat head just inside him. It barely fits, stings with the pressure and weight of hard flesh piercing him. Steve’s kitten claws bite into Billy’s skin to hold on. Desperate to feel something other than this intimate pain that only grows the deeper Billy pushes inside, filling him until he’s sitting in Billy’s lap. Trembling. Quiet except whimpers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy’s next breath in Steve’s hair is a struggle. Like he too has to gnash his teeth and hold his breath to stay quiet. Steve does that to him. It’s encouraging while Steve’s body lights on fire. Jesus it hurts! Why does it hurt so much? It’s almost good in a distant, numb sort of way, too. But mostly hurts. The first time Billy shifts under him, inside him, Steve flinches and just jostles them more. Every twitch increases the intensity of the burn between his legs. It doesn’t hurt like this when he fingers himself. Then again, the girth of his fingers is paltry compared to Billy seated in him all the way to the hilt. Steve jars again on his knees when both of Billy’s hands finally settle on his waist. One is tacky with lube.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gonna move you, okay?” Billy smears a kiss to Steve’s jaw and squeezes him. “Tell me if I’m hurting you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Billy is already hurting him. The burn of Steve’s body sliding up and then back down his cock doesn’t feel much better. Steve’s hands spasm where they still cling to Billy’s shoulders. He thinks maybe he’s left marks already, definitely will when Billy gets his feet under him and pops his hips up. He drags Steve down on him at the same time, and they meet in the middle. The angle changes with Steve slumping more of his weight into Billy’s chest. He means to squirm to maybe lessen the unbelievable pressure inside him. Maybe that will make Billy’s cock spearing him open feel better? He must be a genius, because now that velvety length brushes along his walls in a way that takes the edge off his pain. The thrumming ache right at his rim dulls minutely with attention to his prostate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breath caught against the sweat on Billy’s neck, Steve shudders and breathes, “Billy,” as the first brush of pleasure unwinds him. He clings tighter with his arms and nails, shifts his hips to move with Billy, and pants over and over again, “Billy, Billy, oh Billy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy drops him down harder, slams up into him, and rumbles in his ear, “I got you, baby, you’re okay.” He grunts and holds Steve completely still just to snap himself in and out, lightning fast. “Feel good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels better but still burns plenty. Maybe that goes away the longer they do this? Or maybe it hurts because it’s his first time? Carol had said Tommy fucking her the first time hurt. So Steve presses his trembling lips to Billy’s neck and just nods. The sting at his rim is almost pleasant now. Numb. Like burning himself on a hot plate and then holding his hand under a cool stream of water. At least this way it’s easier for Steve to stay quiet. Billy is louder than him, panting in his ear and grunting over louder sounds that want out. They tingle under Steve’s lips where he muffles his own whimpers. To Billy, they probably feel like moans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Stevie, fuck,” he husks, voice bouncing gently off the roof of the tent. “Fuck you feel so good like this.” Billy’s hands slip on his skin, almost dropping him. So they slide down to grab him by the ass instead. Billy just fucks him harder like that, finally popping whimpers out of Steve, and he pants, “Close, baby boy… Fuck I wanna come in you so bad…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shiver runs through Steve, and he sinks his teeth into Billy’s neck. It must come as a surprise, because Billy belts out one startled grunt. Too loud for where they are and what they’re doing. But then Billy freezes and just breathes hard, loud in and out through Steve’s hair. Below, his hips jerk even though he’s buried as deep as he’ll go. Everything else stops, though. Steve’s heart trips over itself when he thinks he knows what’s happening. Has he? Made Billy come like this? Biting him and just letting the older man fuck him hard and fast like this? Usually it takes everything Steve has to get Billy to that point, only to fail despite his best effort. So although Steve’s ass burns in a shameful sort of way, he nuzzles a smile to the mark he surely left behind. He did this. He made Billy come. Finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve is still half-hard between them when Billy picks him up. He slips out wet and with a groan, can’t seem to dump Steve onto the other sleeping bag fast enough. Steve lands hard enough to jar every soft inch on him. It’s the first time Billy’s arms have trembled under Steve’s weight. The beer and the hot day catch up to Billy, then, as he leaves Steve curled up on the untouched sleeping bag. Billy slides down onto his stomach, face in Steve’s pillow, and doesn’t move again. Steve lies there in the dark, still aching to come and uncomfortably wet between his cheeks now, as Billy begins to snore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve holds completely still on his side. Maybe it’s only Billy breathing hard as he calms down. Maybe Billy will snap right back out of it and pull Steve to him, cuddling like they usually do. So the longer the night stretches on and Billy snores away, the tighter Steve’s insides wind. He should… get up and clean up the mess of lube and come leaking on his thigh. He has no earthly idea what time it is, if he’ll step out of the tent only for the sun to be rising and people spying him hobbling to the outhouses… Fuck, there’s no water over there except from a spigot sticking out of a pipe in the ground…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First thing is first, though. He has to gather himself—shaky, rubbery limbs and all—and crawl out of the tent. With his thighs and ass wet with Billy’s come. Steve swallows his whine of protest, of hurt, and pats around the dark for their clothes. It doesn’t matter what he slips on, just something to hide his nudity. Shirt tugged over his head, Steve next finds his underwear. Luckily, none of the mess had reached their clothes, so everything is clean. Steve chews his lip over what to do. If he slides his underwear on now, they’ll definitely get dirty. Can he chance it running across the campgrounds, the parking lot, and then making the best of cleaning up at the outhouses? He doesn’t really have a choice, can’t lie here in the wet spot all night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first attempt of standing and leaving fails. Steve’s legs fold like a lawn chair and send him crashing back to the tent floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy stirs on his belly, snuffling, but settles dead asleep again. Still snoring. Steve almost wants to smile at how peaceful Billy is. At least one of them is. Steve has to pick himself back up and try again. His whole body aches something terrible. Once he stands, his knees make loud threats to buckle all over again if he doesn’t watch it. So each step—from shoving his bare feet into his sneakers, to stepping through the tent door, and then stumbling to the outhouses—is a battle with gravity. Steve’s legs are mutineers, joining gravity’s silent pursuit of him. Steve had stopped long enough at the dark embers of their fire from before to steal a plastic cup. He’ll need it to take water from the spigot and… well…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first splash of water between his legs is so fucking cold he lets out a hiss. Any ardour that had lingered in his dick dries right up as his skin tightens. It’s a different sort of pain from the burning of his rim. Steve blushes hot into the tepid night as he hikes a foot up on the spigot to throw cups of water right at the V of his legs. He wedges the tangled bundle of his underwear between his chin and chest as he scoops a hand down and tucks fingers between his cheeks. Another hiss as he forces them inside despite the pain to make sure he’s actually cleaned out. If it were possible, steam would smoke off his cheeks and ears from how embarrassed he is. And no one is even around to witness this. That’s how mortifying it is, to stand here with a leg bent high so he can wash come and lube off him. It’s not at all what he thought it would be like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steve had only planned ahead for so much and didn’t bring a towel with him to pat his thighs dry. Shoulders sinking in defeat, he scuffs his shoes over to the outhouse to at least wipe his ass. Somehow he remembered the flashlight, though. He left it standing on its plastic lens while cleaning up. He flicks the light back on inside the outhouse, disturbing a tiny cloud of flies, and at least gets a piss out before his last, shameful task. He almost drops the flashlight to the disgusting floor when blood blots the toilet paper in his hand. Not a lot. But it’s there all the same. Steve can’t fling it into the pit and away from him fast enough, almost trips while spinning around to exit the outhouse as quickly as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Billy is still sound asleep when Steve crawls in, wincing with every shift of his body. Back on his side where Billy had left him, Steve curls up and waits to stop sweating again. At least now in the thick of the night it takes less time because it’s cooler in here. Steve having left just the bug screen zipped instead of the whole door flap helped some with the stuffiness in here. There’s still no breeze outside, the valley dead, but the night cooled down like Steve hoped it would. Steve sighs, adjusts the lay of his body on the sleeping bag and thin foam under him, and tries to drift off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grumbling beside him, in front of him. Resisting another sigh, Steve peels his heavy eyelids open to watch Billy shuffle around in the dark. He thinks he catches the wet shine of eyes blinking at him in the dark, but he can’t tell for sure. What is sure that Billy stirs enough to scoot closer to where the sleeping bags touch, reaches for Steve with a hand, and scoops him up to cuddle the teenager under his chin. Again, Billy’s body is entirely too hot for this, has Steve sweating instantly. But Billy hums into his hair and squeezes him so tightly that Steve knows he’ll swallow his protest. And he does, especially when Billy begins to pet his back through the thin t-shirt and nuzzles his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, I love you, baby,” Billy hums, maybe not even awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s enough for Steve, though. He forgets all about the pain, all about Billy drunkenly grabbing him, the blood in the outhouse. All of it. He sets it all aside for those slurred words and presses himself as tightly to Billy’s chest as he can. Billy is still naked, hadn’t stirred at all while Steve was gone. At least one of them will get plenty of sleep tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kissing the center of that barrel chest, Steve whispers back, “I love you, too,” and tries to drift off despite all the heat and pain around him.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Talk about addressing the elephant in the room lol. All the dirty laundry is aired out. I'm curious to see if people are upset with Billy for this last fuck up. The Reveal (if you follow me on twitter lol). Of course many (if not all) of you KNOW what the dirty secret is. This story was an experiment for me in storytelling. I wanted the audience to be clued in but the protagonist to be clueless. Or mostly clueless (maybe lying to himself lol). I accomplished this, but then that left the issue of the climax of the plot. Since you are all in on it, I had to come up with a way for Steve to figure it out. Thus: The Reveal!</p><p>Slap a hot, nasty comment down there and let me know what you think. Once more chapter and then we're done. Thank Christ.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The worst part about camping, to Steve, is the end. Even though the trip had been a surprise and he was excited to amass the supplies with Billy. Grocery shopping was especially fun since Billy knew what was waiting for them and took pleasure in teasing Steve about it. But the reverse of that? Breaking down the tent and the campsite and somehow shoving everything back into the Camaro, trunk barely latching even though it fit everything the first time? Steve would rather never go camping again just to avoid that part.</p><p>And the sunburn. And the bug bites. And the general ache of sleeping on the ground for two nights, never truly finding sleep. So when they make their last in-and-out trip from the Camaro to the apartment, Steve can’t wait to throw himself onto Billy’s bed and just pass out. It’s dinner time and he’s starving, but sleep is the better option. Billy snatches him by the back of his shirt—still one of Billy’s shirts—as Steve tries to make a run for it into the AC.</p><p>“Shower first,” he scolds gently, eyebrow cocked at Steve’s fat lip and whine. “We both stink. Be lucky I’m letting you go first, little man.” He sort of shoves Steve in the direction of the front door with a smirk. Even Billy’s cheeks and forehead are pink. “I’m gonna order pizza while you’re in there. Save me some when you go to town on it, kay?”</p><p>Of course he’ll save Billy some. Knowing Billy, he’ll order half pepperoni and half supreme anyway, because he knows Steve won’t eat green peppers. Guaranteeing that Steve will ‘save him some’ by default. So Steve sticks his tongue out at Billy and rushes to the bathroom. The faster he showers, the sooner he can eat and go to bed, uncaring of the time of day. They’re due back at the gift shop tomorrow morning like normal, and Steve groans with his hair soaked thinking about it. If only Billy’s help for the summer were more reliable. They’ve been manning the store more often than not. It’s not a big deal, because Steve likes helping Billy. They could just be using that time better, he supposes. </p><p>At least the rest of the camping trip had gone smoothly after the awkward fumbling Friday night. When Billy woke up the next day, chugging water with groans in between as he melted into a chair, Steve orbited him, seeking affection. Reassurance after their… tangoing hours prior. If Billy even remembered any of it. He at least remembered them fucking. He took one of Steve’s wrists in his hand and squeezed it, murmured lowly just for them if Billy hurt him at all, if Steve enjoyed it. And Steve answered no the former, yes to the latter. Was it a lie if Steve did it to protect Billy’s feelings? To salvage the rest of the trip so Billy wouldn’t make a big deal out of going too fast? Make a big deal out of a little bit of blood he never even saw? According to Carol and Tommy, it’s supposed to hurt the first time. So Steve called it a success, whispered right back in Billy’s ear that he wanted to do it again when they got home.</p><p>Only now, whole body about to give out, Steve doubts his ability to perform. Even breathing sort of hurts from how tired he is. Billy had looked just as tired and flat even while teasing him about how they stink. Steve counts on cramming a few slices of pizza in his mouth and then passing out in the blissful coolness of Billy’s bedroom. It was the first thing Steve did upon bursting through the front door. Marching up to the two wall units and turning them on full blast, fucking sick and tired of sweating every second of his life with no relief! Even his shower is a tepid one, because any more heat will drive him crazy. It’s especially soothing to the back of his neck and tops of his shoulders. They were less diligent with the sunblock than they could have been. Tomorrow at the gift shop will be hell.</p><p>Steve wishes he could enjoy the swell of pride over being right. When he drags himself out of the shower, he’s barely out of the way of the door before Billy muscles in. Steve flops on the couch, shoves the pizza box open, and stuffs his mouth like an animal. He gets the two slices in him, swaying on his ass to the hum of the AC chugging away, and doesn’t remember slumping into the cushions with pizza sauce on his face. A paw of a hand petting through his hair coaxes him so gently awake. Billy probably hadn’t meant to wake him. But Billy waggling a bottle of aloe vera in his face makes waking up worth it. Steve’s skin is tight wherever he sports a burning kiss from the sun. He doesn’t hesitate at all to whip his shirt right back off and present those kisses for aloe, soothing them.</p><p>“Your parents are gonna be pissed if they find out I let you burn like this,” Billy drawls behind him on the couch. Steve sits between his legs, Billy’s left bent and smashed between Steve and the couch. The other sort of drapes off the edge of the cushions, foot on the floor. The aloe bottle makes a suction noise as Billy forces some out. “Sorry if this is cold. It’ll feel good though, so tough it out.”</p><p>“Pft, I’ve had aloe rubbed on me before, Uncle Billy.” Still, Steve shivers at the first brush of chill, then warmth from Billy’s fingers, and then chill again as the aloe soaks in. “I get a bad sunburn at least once a summer because of the pool, hello?”</p><p>“Okay, smartass, you can get your back yourself.”</p><p>“No!” He crows, scrambling behind him for Billy’s wrist, snagging it. “I didn’t mean it, come on, it felt good.”</p><p>“Yea?”</p><p>Steve turns his head as far as it’ll go, pleading at Billy with an eye.</p><p>“Really good. Please don’t stop.”</p><p>Billy hums then and nudges his hand closer. Steve drops it when his arms won’t bend any more. They puddle in his lap instead, make room for Billy’s other hand cupping his right hip. Those fingers squeeze him while the thumb digs into him. It gets Steve squirming where he sits in front of Billy. When the blob of aloe is all smoothed out on Steve’s skin, Billy slips that tacky hand around and holds Steve low on his belly. It’s only now Steve tunes into his nakedness, bare from the hips up. His underwear doesn’t come up that high, leaves plenty of room for Billy’s skin to rasp all nice over his. Steve’s insides give an interested flip. But he knows it’s in vain. He’s too tired for them to do anything.</p><p>Settling a hand on Billy’s wrist once more, Steve murmurs, “I’m really tired, Uncle Billy. I wanna go to sleep.”</p><p>The distinction is key. Not ‘I wanna go to bed with you’ but ‘I wanna go to sleep.’ Steve knows he’s not up for sex, even though he’d said so earlier.</p><p>Billy leans forward to kiss the crook of his neck and murmurs, “That’s fine, Stevie, let’s go to bed.”</p><p>He needs Billy to steady him when he rises. Steve flusters about it, but he’s too tired to put up much of a fuss. Billy sticks close to him during the brief trip around the corner to the bedroom. The door shuts behind them, and Steve makes sure to spin around on a foot so that he has the perfect view of Billy undressing. Well, at least down to his underwear. Steve joins him, although Billy picks the shirt back up and nudges it towards Steve.</p><p>“You’ll wanna sleep with a shirt on tonight. Otherwise you’ll stick to the sheets because of the aloe.”</p><p>True enough, Steve is tacky all over his face and his shoulders. He hadn’t needed Billy’s help for his face, although he wouldn’t say no to it. Huffing because he enjoys the skin contact while they sleep, Steve does as he’s told and feeds his head into the shirt, arms popping out soon after. Billy gets him by the back of his neck and tugs him close. Billy’s other hand pets Steve’s hair out of his eyes until they meet his. It takes nothing for Billy to crane forward and Steve to angle his head to meet him. Their kiss is a simple plush and pull of lips. A sweet thing, and then it’s over.</p><p>Billy’s hand on his neck comes slipping around to cradle his jaw. The hand in his hair pauses as Billy murmurs, “I love you, Stevie. Very much.”</p><p>It’s always thrilling to hear Billy say it first. Unprompted and unexpected. It comes from Billy’s heart, then, because he’s not just parroting it back at Steve.</p><p>“I know,” Steve says with a smile filling Billy’s palm. “Me too. I, um, had a lot of fun this weekend. Sorry I’m so tired.”</p><p>“Don’t sweat it, little man, I’m ready to pass out, too. Get comfortable while I go clean up the dinner we didn’t eat and turn all the lights off.”</p><p>“Sorry…”</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry, I’m gonna be out there long enough to at least eat a slice or two. We’re not having sex, so I get to eat all the green peppers I want, and you can’t complain.”</p><p>Steve huffs, “Mean,” and climbs into bed.</p><p>He’ll build up a little bubble of warmth while Billy is away. Enough to keep him warm in the interim, rubbing his face into the pillows to smell Billy more. He smiles into that pillow, thinking back on Billy’s words. That maybe he hadn’t eaten yet because he thought they’d get up to something. And Steve complains whenever Billy’s breath smells bad. Billy does love him. He doesn’t have to say it, Steve knows he does. Billy always has an edge with everyone. Even customers he restrains himself from punching right in the mouth, the edge lingers. Not with Steve, though. He is all edges that only pet Steve’s skin instead of slicing him to ribbons. Billy is not any softer with him. Just gentler. </p><p>Billy proves those edges when he drops his weight into the old Murphy bed only to snatch Steve up. The initial embrace is perhaps too tight, makes his ribs ache. But then it softens to cradle him, lips pressing with such plushness to his. Not dipping inside or lapping him open. Just kissing him to feel him. It’s strangely intimate and gets Steve’s stomach flipping and his throat squeezing tight. When they separate, Steve has to be the one to say it first this time.</p><p>“Love you, Uncle Billy.”</p><p>“I love you more.”</p><p>Steve sputters at that. “D-doubt it!”</p><p>“Go to sleep,” purrs in his ear, the final word Billy’s. </p><p> </p><p>Billy’s hand in his hair and light beyond his eyelids are the next sensations he knows. No longer is Billy cuddled up behind him, a thick wall his only defense from the AC. Now, Steve curls up with the blanket tucked under him. Maybe Billy had done that. Whatever the case may be, Billy smiles above him fully dressed and ready for the day. Monday. They need to open the shop in twenty minutes.</p><p>“You slept through the alarm, little man. I gotta leave now if I wanna open the shop on time and meet my help. She doesn’t have a key.”</p><p>Steve tries to explode out of the blanket and bed, but Billy’s hands on his shoulders just press him into the mattress.</p><p>“Stevie, baby, don’t worry about it,” he teases with a smile. “You’re probably gonna be tired for the whole day, and your sunburn is looking worse. Just take it easy today and stay here.”</p><p>Steve shakes his head though and throws his weight into Billy’s hands.</p><p>“N-no, I wanna go with you, I can get ready really fast.”</p><p>Billy just shakes his head and peels a hand off to pet Steve.</p><p>“Listen, I’ll come home during lunch, okay? Rhonda can handle the shop by herself for an hour. So you can sleep in until noon if you want. Deal?”</p><p>He pouts, would still rather join Billy in the shop. There won’t be much for Steve to do with Rhonda there. She’s paid to be there, even if it’s under the table. And Billy is always a little extra distant when Rhonda can take a shift at the register. Which Steve understands why, they have to be careful. They can’t throw away so much for so little—a stolen kiss or touch, something someone could misconstrue. Steve won’t throw them away, and he knows exactly how much is at stake for Billy. So sighing and huffing, knowing this is for the best, Steve wiggles onto his belly and turns his head away from Billy. Dismissing him.</p><p>But the hand in his hair returns, and weight dents the bed. Billy is all warm hums and chuckles above him at his antics. Billy lingers long enough to swoop down, blocking the AC for a moment, to nuzzle him and kiss his hair. Steve almost wants to twist around to kiss Billy goodbye. He knows if he does that he’ll just miss the older man all the more until noon. If he wants any chance of going back to sleep, missing Billy will have to hold off. He’ll never fall asleep like that.</p><p>“Love you, baby boy, see you at noon. Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone.”</p><p>He hums his love back and then lies there with the sun bleeding on him through the sheet Billy has tacked across the window. It takes flopping around to give his back to the window. He even tugs a corner of the sheet they sleep with to pack it in around his eyes. Light blocked enough to coax him back to dreams, Steve drifts for a while, but never truly sleeps. At one point, his body jolts like he’s fallen out of bed. He sits up a bit, thinking maybe the front door opened and closed. But the apartment is silent, Monday calling adults away to their jobs after the long weekend.</p><p>Whoever lives above Billy doesn’t have kids, and Steve has never been more thankful for the peace. It’s just someone’s lawnmower nearby and cars on the road until Steve rolls over with a groan around 11. Now kids have spilled outside into the July heat to play, screaming and carrying on. Well, spilled out or someone kicking them out of the house. Happens to Tommy all the time, his mom especially worried over him spending too much time inside. Worried about him going soft like she did. Sighing on his side that aches from lying around too long, Steve shoves himself out of bed. He needs to get up and stop wasting the day.</p><p>The fridge is stocked with leftovers from the camping trip, so Steve slaps a charred patty into the microwave and turns it on high. Probably by now there’s a taco truck at the corner, one Billy swears by, and Steve knows he could scrounge a few quarters together if he doesn’t want to eat leftovers. Billy won’t notice some change missing from where he dumps it in a jar on top of the entertainment system. The living room is too warm, too bright for Steve’s squint. So he takes his plate back into the bedroom and turns the smaller TV on in there. It’s one of those that has a VCR built into it on the bottom. Billy has never struck Steve as a movie type—mostly because Steve doesn’t give a shit about movies and hopes Billy is the same. With that in mind, that he still doesn’t know much about Billy, he takes to looking around the room while stuffing his face.</p><p>Steve’s long legs only remain content with idleness for so long. He is always hungry for Billy. To learn more, to discover more about him. In a sexual way and a normal way too, of course. Sometimes his stomach aches when he thinks about the imbalance there. That he knows plenty about Billy’s body and sex with him but doesn’t, for instance, know Billy’s birthday or his favorite color. Like those things matter in the grand scheme of it all, but to Steve it does. He wants to know everything about Billy, wants to hear stories from his past and look through photo albums while Billy tries to gloss over the embarrassing shots. Because he would try to hide them, but if Steve insists, he would stop with a roll of his eyes and let Steve peek behind the curtain.</p><p>Plate on the nightstand, appetite sated, Steve pops from the bed and heads for the living room. Searching for pieces of Billy hidden in plain sight. He turns the TV off as an afterthought, not caring about the daytime talk show that was playing. Kneeling in front of the entertainment system, Steve opens the cabinet doors on the bottom. Here are VHS tapes. Legal ones too with their box art sleeves and everything, although Steve picks through a few tapes without labels. Maybe Billy has recorded things off a TV station or something. Or has bootleg copies of movies. It fits Billy in his head, somehow. The sneaky dishonesty, the middle finger to the warning against copyright infringement at the beginning of every tape. Steve snorts, piles the plucked tapes back into the cabinet, and then stands to poke around some more. He has time before Billy pops in from the gift shop. </p><p>The living room doesn’t hold much else of interest. Except the drawer in a side table wedged between the couch and the recliner. Inside there he finds a glass pipe turned black on the inside from use and a baggy of weed rolling around. He’s seen it before from Tommy’s older brother but never tried it. So he wrinkles his nose and coughs a little from the overpowering smell that rises from the open drawer. Steve slaps it back shut, uninterested in Billy’s dirty secret without Billy here to tease, and advances his snooping to the kitchen. It’s a bust like he’d thought it would be—although Mom hides a pack of Virginia Slims in an old coffee can in the fridge that’s in the garage. He’s pretty sure Dad doesn’t know about that or the $100 bills folded and nestled beside said pack of cigarettes. Steve counted $5,000 last he checked. Whatever Mom has planned for that money, he hopes he’s not around when Dad finds out and they start a screaming match.</p><p>All that’s left is Billy’s bedroom. Steve’s heart and belly give excited leaps. Because Billy’s bedroom is such an oddity in Steve’s head. Because Billy is an adult like his parents, and therefore Billy’s room is by default off-limits. However, Billy is also his… boyfriend, lover, whatever, so Billy’s bedroom is also not off-limits. Billy has never said anything about it being off-limits, however Steve has only ever occupied the space under the guise of sleeping and fooling around when they don’t want to on the couch. Ah, they still need to have sex again. Better than in the damn tent Friday night with Steve sweating like a pig and Billy sort of smelling like one from the beer. Steve’s nose wrinkles again as he kneels in front of the dirty pile of clothes sticking out of Billy’s closet. Someone should really clean this up…</p><p>So why not him? It’s safe to assume that all the clothes on the floor are dirty. It’s where Steve throws his clothes when he misses the hamper in his room. Which isn’t too often anymore. Practicing with Tommy for basketball try-outs helps with that. So although he cannot be bothered to necessarily pick up missed shots, he does make an effort to ball his clothes up and launch them towards the open maw of the hamper. He’s gotten pretty good at dunking them straight in. Swoosh, two points.</p><p>Billy doesn’t even have a hamper, so Steve just picks up all the musty t-shirts and folds them. He makes a separate pile for jeans and anything else he finds, laughing to himself when he doesn’t find much in the way of underwear. Billy doesn’t really wear them often. Steve wonders about the story behind that when he finally clears the floor of the closet. And finds a shoebox crammed into the darkest corner. With the name ‘Bobby’ written on it.</p><p>There’s only one ‘Bobby’ Steve knows, and that’s Dad. Bobby if you’re Billy. Another snort blurts out of him when Steve thinks about the two of them in college. Billy and Bobby, best friends and mischievous boys just like him and Tommy. Well, maybe not ‘boys’ because Dad and Billy were in college, in their 20s, but Billy is still mischievous to this day, so he only could have been more of a hellion when he was younger. Fighting and fucking all the time, if Billy is to be believed. No lies between them. Plus what? Would Billy lie about that to impress him? Billy doesn’t need to do that, has been the ‘cool’ uncle Steve’s entire life. Therefore, if Billy has a shoebox hidden in his closet with Dad’s name on it, it must have something interesting in it. Or embarrassing.</p><p>Inside is a VHS tape without a label and a pile of Polaroids all flipped down, black and white backs facing him. Odd that Billy would keep a VHS in here when he clearly has a place set aside for them in the living room. Steve picks up the tape and flips it over, checking to make sure there’s no label. It’s dusty and not rewound all the way, smells like burning rubber in his hands. Humming with his confusion building, Steve picks up the mystery in his lap and shifts to the bed. He sits on a corner of the Murphy bed and sets the VHS tape down by his thigh. The box is in his lap as he reaches for a random photo on top of the pile, curious why he’d found no photo album in the living room and now finds old Polaroids hidden in a box.</p><p>Steve’s face heats red to his hairline when he tunes into what is captured in the photo. The grainy, slightly out of focus treasure trail of a man. It’s in faded color, either from age or just how shitty Polaroids are sometimes. But the blush of the man’s erection is unmistakable. A dirty photo. It’s not Billy, though. No, the dick in the photo is cut and not big enough to be Billy. Steve frowns and shuffles on the bed. He can’t let his jealousy run away with him this time. It’s not like Billy has these prominently displayed or looks at them. The whole box stinks of dust and age, truly hidden in the closet. Billy probably doesn’t even know this guy anymore.</p><p>The next photo he picks up and flips over is in the same vein. A hand cups a jaw, thumb frozen as it pets over parted lips. This one is somehow more intimate than the first, and Steve holds on to it with both hands. Billy had done this to him Friday night. Steve recalls moaning so quietly while sucking on Billy’s thumb. The memory shames him in the silly way sexual things do sometimes. How he’ll remember after phone calls with Billy all the crazy, dirty things he said. It’s worse with his head clear and in the light of the day like right now. Swallowing hard, Steve sets that photo aside and picks up another and another, keen on maybe looking at all of them.</p><p>Until he picks up one and finally recognizes the people in the photo.</p><p>It’s Billy. For sure this time, because Steve doesn’t know anyone with long, curly hair like that to match the grin aimed at the camera. He’s beautiful and toned as always. On a bed with his legs splayed wide, naked and hard. Absolutely Billy with his tongue hanging out, frozen forever like that. Beside him is a sight Steve struggles to make sense of. Because he’s pretty sure sitting beside Billy on the bed just as naked, just as hard is Robert Harrington. Robert Harrington at that age is a rather startling face twin for Steve, looks just like him but less softness in the face. And that doesn’t make much sense to Steve.</p><p>Dad is younger, of course. No grey in his hair yet, his haircut sort of out of style for the time. But that suave, 50s swoop looks good on him even in the 70s. Whenever the photo had been taken, Dad always looks good with his hair cut like that. Robert and Steve have the same, short jaw and unremarkable chin depending on how they angle their heads. And sort of perpetually tired eyes like an old hound. Even Robert’s grin is subdued like Steve’s are when he’s just smiling to be nice. He’s not as open about his amusement as Billy, but he grins all the same at the camera. Maybe… maybe it was something for their fraternity. A joke or something funny they did. Steve sets the photo aside with the others he already touched, eyes lingering on it even as he reaches for another one. The next doesn’t make much more sense, only confuses him more.</p><p>He’s seen his parents kiss on the mouth before, of course. They loved each other once. But to stare with his heart bouncing around inside him at the frozen moment where Billy and Dad turned to each other to share a kiss… What the hell is this supposed to mean? And the deeper in the box Steve digs, the more confused he is. Confused but cold with realization. There’s more of Dad alone, still naked, sometimes hard and sometimes not. The first photo he picked up was Dad. He knows that now. And recognizes the hand wrapped around his Dad’s dick in a few of them. Billy’s hand. And Billy is in some of them with Bobby. Just Bobby all over Billy, kissing him hard like he’s taking what he wants, biting at Billy’s neck to leave bruises behind. Oh and this one has Billy kneeling between Bobby’s legs, nose buried in his pubic hair…</p><p>It’s the sourness Steve first tunes into when his hands drop weightless and dumb into the box. The bed is a mess of Polaroids spread around. Sweat pricks Steve’s neck, sparkling sunshine bleeding through the sheet covering the window. Despite that, Steve starts to shiver. There are still plenty more photos waiting to be discovered, but Steve can’t continue. It’s too much. Too much confusion, too much uncertainty. Because maybe he doesn’t know what he’s looking at. He doesn’t know the whole story, doesn’t want to fucking jump to conclusions again. Like with Johnny. He doesn’t want that all over again, because he trusts Billy and loves him… So what the hell is this box of softcore porn of his dad and Billy?!</p><p>Like it calls to him, Steve’s eyes drift slowly to the VHS tape by his thigh. He doesn’t move his head to regard it, is frozen on the spot like Billy and Bobby in the photos. His blood has crawled to a stop, body strung tightly where he sits. He thinks his legs are asleep where they hang over the edge of the bed. The apartment is soft and quiet in the noon light streaming through, only the AC keeping the intensity down. Steve stares and stares and stares at the VHS until a high-pitched whine in his ears drowns out everything. What’s on the tape, he wonders. Why would Billy keep it separate from the tapes in the living room? Why pack it with this Pandora’s Box of horror?</p><p>The TV in Billy’s bedroom has a VCR built into it.</p><p>Picking the shoebox up, Steve sets it on the floor. When he works out the bend in his back, he swipes his hand over the black VHS tape and picks it up. It can’t hurt him, and yet he holds it like he’s seen people at zoos handle snakes. Carefully, sort of letting the animal have free range but also not letting it get away. He holds it flat laid across both palms as he rises, legs already shaking, and takes the two steps necessary to bring him to the TV. There’s nothing in the VCR when he pokes the eject button. Biting his lip as his stomach bottoms out yet again, Steve fights himself. Just for a moment. He shouldn’t look at this. Should shove everything back into the box, send it all back into the closet, and pretend like he’d never seen it.</p><p>But you can’t put toothpaste back into the tube once you’ve squeezed it out. So he slots the edge of the VHS tape into the door of the VCR and gives it a push. </p><p>The TV turns back on with a click and a rush of static coming alive along the glass. Steve reaches behind him for the bed, only sits when he bumps into it. It’s entirely too cold in here with his insides icing over with dread. Throwing on pants would be a good idea if he could do anything other than look away from the TV as the heads in the VCR begin to read the black strip of data. There’s no sound. Just black and white footage from a single angle. Grainy like the Polaroids. And much like the Polaroids, the subjects of the scene already in progress are Billy and Bobby. The tape hadn’t been rewound the last time someone watched it. The last time Billy watched it.</p><p>They’re already naked and hard, hands casually stroking each other as they kiss. Billy pushes Bobby flat on his back, and they grin at each other. There’s no condom, only lube as Billy climbs on top of Bobby with a tube in his hands. It all disappears with Billy’s back to the camera, again just the one, static angle. So Steve gets a full view of Billy straddling Bobby’s hips, slicking Bobby’s dick up, and sitting on it until he’s full. He barely pauses with Bobby’s hands petting him up and down his ribs before he moves all on his own, riding Bobby like Steve did to him in the tent. All at once Steve is happy there’s no sound when Bobby’s hips rear back under Billy and begin to thunder into him. A motion he has felt exactly once.</p><p>He could just be sick. It’s not the first time he’s wanted to throw up on the ugly carpet in here. Because on one hand, he’s watching what amounts to homemade porn of Billy fucking Dad. But even knowing that? The disconnect between Steve’s dad and ‘Bobby’ as a person makes this all the more uncomfortable. Because as Steve watches Billy do to Bobby what he’s only fantasized about, he finds that he only wants it more. Jesus, why did their first time fucking like that have to be so bad?! This is what Steve wanted the first time he gathered the horny courage to let his mind wander. His dad—No, Bobby being mixed into it now only makes Steve that much more bitter. That much more hurt that the next morning Billy only kissed him and murmured that he had fun. Hoped Steve did to. Billy still doesn’t know about him stumbling around in the dark, the blood. There was probably no stumbling around or blood with Bobby. And Steve hates that.</p><p>Gritting his teeth and wild with his sorrow, his anger, Steve jumps from the bed and shoves his finger into the rewind button. He’s come this far, already chokes on stomach acid in the back of his mouth. Why not see everything on the tape? Why not get the full scope of the situation? Steve stands there glued to the spot, entirely too close to the screen, when he stabs play. The tracking tears the image for a second before it all catches up with itself and becomes smooth again. Bobby sits at an angle to the camera when he stops moving in reverse. Billy is already on his knees on the floor, hands petting his hair before he gets busy. He stares up at Bobby with such adoration, his smile so genuine. Steve’s heart freezes all the more when Billy says something to Bobby. Steve isn’t a great lip reader, but Billy has said the same words to him so much over the weekend that he’s sure he’s not mistaken.</p><p>‘I love you, Bobby.’</p><p>So Steve is heartbroken and helpless to watch Bobby’s hands, slim and graceful like Steve’s, guide Billy down without saying anything back. In fact, once Billy’s eyes are off him, Bobby sort of grimaces through a smile. He doesn’t say it back. That’s what sticks with Steve, stirs up his wild hurt until he bites himself through a whine. How could Bobby not say it back? How could he not feel the same with that beautiful man kneeling in front of him, pleasuring him with the promise of love only seconds before? And does Bobby have to be so rough like that? The camera has an angle on the action, shows Bobby buried to the root against Billy’s boyish lips despite him wincing and gagging. But Bobby doesn’t stop, just moves Billy’s head how he wants via tugging on Billy’s curls. And maybe Billy wanted that, maybe Billy liked it that way, but Steve shakes his head while he watches and knows it’s wrong, wrong, wrong!</p><p>Steve’s heart is in his throat when a shadow tickles his peripheral vision. So on edge that he doesn’t see Billy standing there, staring at him with huge eyes.</p><p>Blue eyes only peel off him after a blink. Only to glance at the Polaroids spread around like a confession and then up to the tape. Still playing. Only now Bobby fucks Billy’s mouth all the harder with his own head thrown back, throat working over silent moans. Steve could be sick, wants to be when he shivers from the AC and huddles in on himself. He doesn’t mean to turn from Billy, to shy away. He commits to it once he spies the wet spot in the front of his underwear from how hard he is, body betraying his heartbreak. Steve turns all the way around to give Billy his back and sort of crumbles to the floor with his arms over his head. It feels like the right thing to do. He just needs a little bit of shelter from this madness. It’s all he can do to not start screaming.</p><p>“Steve…”</p><p>But Steve only cowers where he curls into a tight ball on his feet. He would collapse all the way to the floor, but if he goes down, he’s not getting back up. So Billy would have to pick him up, and if Billy touches him right now, he’ll definitely explode. </p><p>“Don't!” Steve doesn’t care about how his voice shreds through his teeth and breaks into shards. Doesn’t care how he sounds like a little kid when he whimpers, “Don’t touch me!”</p><p>Quietly in the aftermath of that outburst, “I won’t.”</p><p>Not yet in tears, Steve whips his head around with a glare and snaps, “What the fuck is this? Why-why do you have naked pictures of my dad?” He springs up and whirls around, uncaring of the state of himself, and screeches, “Were you fucking my dad?!”</p><p>Billy’s shock and surprise are still thick on his face when he reasons, hands petting the air in front of him, “Just calm down, Steve, I can—”</p><p>“No! No I won’t calm down!” </p><p>Steve stomps the few steps that separate them. Something has to give, he has to work some of this pent up hurt and confusion, can’t keep turning it back on himself. So, hands slapped flat to Billy’s chest, Steve shoves with every ounce of strength in his lean body. Billy actually stumbles back, catches himself on the wood trim around the doorway.</p><p>Teeth out and hungry for blood, Steve tosses a wild look back to the TV. It’s over now, what they’d been doing. Billy is still on the floor, kneeling with a wrist wiping his mouth, knocking drool and come off his lips. Bobby lies spread eagle on the bed. Soft now. Thanks to Billy. And yet still Billy stumbles to his feet to join Bobby splayed out, reaches with his free hand to pet Bobby’s hair, his face. Bobby sits up with a stretch and grin on his face. Waiting patiently at his side, Billy is only eyes for Bobby, that terrible fondness gentling Billy’s edges. Just like with Steve, that fondness. It turns more so when Bobby finally twists around to look at him, denies Billy a kiss when he tries, grimacing again like when Billy said, ‘I love you, Bobby.’ So Billy just holds his face and kisses him all over. Forehead, cheeks, chin, everywhere.</p><p>‘Has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like your dad?’<br/>‘You’re pretty like him. That’s all.’<br/>‘It’s crazy how much you look like your dad, Stevie.’ <br/>‘You’re all Bobby in the face.’</p><p>The tides of Steve’s sorrow rush up to snuff the anger pouring out of him like lava. It strikes those stormy waters and dies with a hiss. His eyes sting with that hiss when he turns back to Billy, completely defeated as Billy grits his teeth. Maybe wanting to say something. Maybe wanting to scold Steve for his violence and language. Steve doesn’t care.</p><p>“Do… Are you only fucking me because I look like my dad?”</p><p>Billy stares at him with hard eyes and tense jaw. Not moving. Not even flinching from the accusation. But… he doesn’t speak up, either. Doesn’t refute it or attempt to patronize Steve into calmness like before. The longer that intense silence goes on, the higher Steve’s sorrow rises until it threatens to overflow in his eyes. His heart has never been so low, so kicked into the dirt and stomped on. He’d rather catch Billy fucking Johnny all over again than experience this sort of heart break. Until this moment, Steve hadn’t known it could feel this bad. Like all his insides are scooped out and his chest is hollow. Not even a person anymore, just a shell of agony.</p><p>“Billy?”</p><p>Billy comes back to life with a huge inhale. It fills his chest and stomach all the way to the breaking point and blows out of him with a loud sigh. Those broad shoulders collapse then as Billy hangs his head and rubs a hand over his face. Not looking at Steve. When he straightens himself, it’s to Steve with his arms huddled to his chest, looking so small and every bit as young as he is. A child.</p><p>“I can explain.”</p><p>That’s not a great response. The perfect response would have been, ‘No, Steve, I’m not fucking you because you look like your dad.’ Of course that’s the response Steve wants with all his fragile heart but knows for a fact he won’t be getting. Because he sees it, now. Yes, compared to Robert Harrington in these photos and on the tape, with his slim, swimmer’s body and the knobs of his joints sticking out, they do look alike. Exactly alike except for Steve’s hair and all his moles. That’s all Mom. So Steve is not an exact replica. Just where it counts, apparently. A newer model.</p><p>Billy takes a step forward with his hands out. Like he’ll touch Steve or bring him to the bed. Steve almost trips over the shoebox of forbidden knowledge in his haste to get away.</p><p>“Don’t! I said don’t touch me!”</p><p>And Billy stops dead in his tracks with those words like they form an actual wall to protect Steve. Steve breathes hard after his outburst and hugs himself, needs it or he’ll fall apart. He shakes his head and backs up more until the AC blowing out of the wall unit threatens to freeze his thighs. There’s nowhere else to go, and Billy blocks the bedroom door.</p><p>Another huge breath and then lowly, “Will you sit down while I explain? Would you at least do that for me? I won’t touch you.”</p><p>Much like before when Steve had first slipped the VHS into the TV, he searches blindly for the bed to guide himself down. At least he’s not hard anymore, is mortified his body reacted that way to images of his dad, for Christ’s sake. He can’t take his eyes off Billy. Waiting for… something. For remorse or an apology? For Billy’s face to show even a modicum of emotion? Yes, Steve knows he wears his heart on his sleeve and every emotion that crosses his brain broadcasts plain as day on his face. But doesn’t any of this upset Billy? Doesn’t any of this disgust him or frustrate him? Even anger at this point would be better than Billy’s stony resolve. Steve winds himself up all over again, wants to spring from the bed and the dirty photos spread around him like a summoning circle. But Billy pins him on the spot with that stare. It does nothing to unwind him, but it keeps him here.</p><p>“Your dad…” Billy can’t even make it through his first sentence without a grumble and rubbing a hand through his hair. He glances away, grits his teeth, and then turns all that careful frustration back on Steve. Finally, an emotion. “Your dad and I have a lot of history, Steve. A lot of shit nobody knows about except the two of us.” Billy nods to the bed. The photos. “I never wanted you to see any of that.”</p><p>“Then tell me.”</p><p>Shapely eyebrows come together.</p><p>“Tell you what?”</p><p>Steve slaps his hands down on the bed, mindless of smudging greasy palm prints on the photos, and shrieks, “That you aren’t fucking me because of my dad!” His hands fly into his hair as he rips at the strands and tries not to cry, tries to hone his anger into something useful and not blubbering tears like he always does. “You say I’m not like my parents and that you love me for me, but is that true? Do you love me? Was it all just a-a lie?”</p><p>“Yes, I love you,” Billy snaps just as hotly. “I tried not to, you little shit. I tried everything to not have feelings for you! You know that!”</p><p>Steve scoffs with his eyes wet and sasses, “Oh, well, sorry I twisted your arm so much. If only I knew from the-from the start you just wanted to relive the glory days”—Steve wiggles his hands for effect—“and fuck my dad one more time—”</p><p>“I am not. Having sex with you. Because of your father.”</p><p>“Well, it sure fucking seems like that!”   </p><p>“If you’d give me a fucking second—”</p><p>“Stop yelling at me!”</p><p>“I’m not yelling!”</p><p>Well now he is. They’re yelling at each other, really. They breathe hard together with Billy almost snarling and Steve’s jaw trembling something terrible. He can’t keep it together, his throat already closing up, and Steve shoves his face into his hands. Even now, after all that, he tries to not make a sound, tries so hard to not sob like a little baby. It doesn’t work, the bucks of Steve’s stomach breaking him in half until he curls up over his own lap. In the safe pocket between his chest and knees, a few mournful moans sneak past the confines of Steve’s tense jaw. Biting himself is always an option to stop the noises bubbling from their source. Just as he turns his head to do that, he spies Billy kneeling in front of him through the gaps between his fingers.</p><p>“Steve.”</p><p>Steve flinches away.</p><p>“I’m not gonna touch you, just… Look at me while I say this to you. Please?”</p><p>It’s the please that does it. Billy places so much emphasis on respect and manners between them. So when Billy says, ‘please,’ Steve knows he means it. Steve does him one better and sits all the way up, sniffling and ignoring how his face is wet. He almost wants Billy to reach out and wipe his tears away. That’s too much, though, and it takes everything in Steve to angle his eyes forward. Billy is the same height as him kneeling like this.</p><p>Billy searches his face for a breath, another, and then says carefully, “That first night way back at Christmas when you snuck into bed with me and confessed. And then the weekend following when I couldn’t get away from you. Do you remember that?”</p><p>Steve sniffles hard and wet, disgusting, but nods.</p><p>Billy’s face closes off with a sigh. Guilt.</p><p>“At that point, I couldn’t stop thinking about your dad.” Steve bites back a whine, about to break down, but Billy stares him into silence. He’s not finished. “You look exactly like him sometimes, Steve. I can’t deny that. Can’t deny that’s why I let you kiss me and hang all over me after you confessed. Bobby and I have a lot of history you don’t know about. Will you listen to me if I tell you? I’m not gonna waste my breath if you’re gonna be a brat about it.”</p><p>Steve’s lips screw up to not tremble, and he spits out, “Fuck you.”</p><p>“Yea, like that,” Billy sighs. He rubs a hand through his hair again, giving them time to calm down. When Steve sniffs again, makes no move to start screaming or ordering Billy out, blue eyes look at him again. “So? You gonna hear me out?”</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>Of course he wants to run his mouth and tell Billy off. That Steve had been right in his assumption, that Billy is a liar. That they’re not supposed to lie to each other, it’s their one rule, damn it. So Steve firms up his jaw and halts the tremble in his lips to face Billy head on. If Billy lies to him, Steve will know. And as much as Steve loves Billy, carries it so heavy and full in his dumb heart, he’ll go back to Hawkins in a few days and never speak to Billy again. He’s already decided it. If Billy lies.</p><p>Billy jerks a thumb over his shoulder to the TV. The scene on the tape has already run its course, and now only blank screen plays for them. It must not have taken up the whole space on the tape, the scenes of them together.</p><p>“We made that shortly before graduating from college. Because I knew your mom was waiting for Bobby to take her back to Hawkins with him and that it was no contest between us. Your dad’s not a fag, never was one, and I knew he’d go right to her the moment college was over.” Billy huffs a humorless laugh and lets his hand drop back to his side. “Cuz I was just a phase, you know? Couldn’t risk knocking your mom up and ruining all his hard work if he had to quit classes to marry and support her. So he fucked me instead.”</p><p>It’s not a lie. It just sits heavy in his guts like one. There’s more to this.</p><p>“Okay? So? Why do you have all this?” Steve gestures to the horror around them. “Why keep it if you were just a phase or whatever? It didn’t matter.”</p><p>Some tension slips out of Billy. That or maybe some pride, because he clenches his jaw to hold something back. Something terrible and frightening that Steve knows well. Heartache. Disappointment. And when Billy opens his eyes to regard Steve again, Steve hates how his heart drops into the deepest pits of them. Because Billy’s eyes are wet. Not about to cry, but full of emotion. Maybe he’s never told anyone this.</p><p>“It wasn’t a phase to me,” he says softly. “I loved your dad the moment I met him. He was…” Billy sighs and looks away. “Beautiful and charming, too smart for his own good. He was perfect, everything I thought I wanted.” A hopeless shrug. “Looks can be deceiving.”</p><p>“H-how so?”</p><p>Billy perks up at that. Surprised that Steve is even listening to him and engaging him. Isn’t even crying anymore, although his sinuses are clogged to hell.</p><p>“Because your dad can be a pretty cruel guy most of the time. Thinks he’s better than everyone else. Anyone who isn’t his equal is lower than dirt. Besides that? He didn’t understand my feelings. He didn’t understand how two men could love each other. Sure, it was fine if we had sex, that didn’t mean anything. I was either being stupid about how I felt or I was confusing it with the sex we were having. To him? It didn’t mean anything. I didn’t mean anything. And he told me as much every chance he could get, that I didn’t matter.”</p><p>‘Your dad thought that I cared about… people too much.’<br/>‘...When someone really mattered to me, I’d let them walk all over me.’ <br/>‘I shouldn’t get hung up on something that was never gonna happen anyway. Something that didn’t matter.’</p><p>Steve shivers hard at Billy’s voice floating through his head. Oh god. Billy had been talking about Dad when he said all that. That Bobby thought Billy cared about <em> him </em> too much. Billy let Dad walk all over him. That things were never going to happen between them. Talking about Dad and him <em> together </em>. Or rather not together, because it sounds like…</p><p>“So Dad rejected you? Because he’s not gay?”</p><p>“That and my feelings for him disgusted him. He couldn’t imagine two men having feelings for each other like that, thought I’d ruin things for him just by having a crush on him.” A wiry grin breaks on Billy’s face, ugly and horrible. “He called me ‘contagious.’”</p><p>“You wouldn’t do that,” Steve insists hotly. “You wouldn’t-you would never hurt him. Or us.”</p><p>The wiry smile drops away, but a corner of Billy’s mouth ticks up once. Barely a twitch.</p><p>“Did you know when you were younger he tried to get me to stop coming to visit? Because he thought I played with you too much and thought I’d molest you?”</p><p>“What the hell? When was this?! You wouldn’t do that!”</p><p>Steve sits up straight, all the way up until he’s almost on his knees in the bed. Billy doesn’t even rise to his voice, just keeps watching him.</p><p>“You were there when we argued about it. Don’t you remember the last time I showed up at the house on your birthday? You were hiding on the stairs, snooping on us, when your dad decided right then was the time to accuse me of molesting his 10-year-old son. All because he thought I was trying to turn you gay like me.”</p><p>“Cuz… cuz of the skateboard you brought me?”</p><p>“Bingo.” But the word lacks any amusement. “Turns out he was watching us when we took your skateboard to the street in front of your house so I could teach you how to balance on it. He didn’t take too kindly to me holding your hands and grabbing you when you fell all those times.”</p><p>Steve hasn’t thought of that in years, but he loved every second of it. Because skateboarding was cool! And Steve didn’t know how to do it, and his parents wouldn’t buy him a skateboard or even skates for that matter. His bike was more of a trophy for them than a toy for him, always getting lectured about keeping it clean and not parking it outside, not throwing it on the ground. So when Billy showed up and Steve dragged him outside to try it… Dad was really watching them, huh? That’s probably why Dad ran over the skateboard with his car. To break it, because Billy bought it for him. Like he couldn’t trust Billy to be appropriate with a 10 year old. Like Billy would have ever done anything to hurt him or touch him against his will. Because Billy is gay.</p><p>“Why though?” Steve asks hopelessly, so confused over these bits and pieces of his life he hasn’t known until now. “Why would Dad say that? You being gay doesn’t mean anything. Just cuz you’re gay doesn’t mean you wanna fuck kids, that’s stupid, that’s—”</p><p>“Steve.”</p><p>Steve’s lips zip right up to make room for all the heaviness in Billy’s voice. It’s so much worse than he’d thought.</p><p>“Your dad thinks the same way his daddy thinks and the same that most people in Hawkins think. The idea that gay men only exist because we were raped or molested as kids, and we’ll do the same to other men and boys to…” Billy rolls his eyes, but forces out, “Convert them. The first time your dad and I ever fooled around was because we were drunk as hell and I told him to just pretend it was Theresa blowing him. The lie worked for a little while, but your dad was curious about my lifestyle, and he couldn’t fuck your mom, and well one thing led to another.”</p><p>“But wait…” Steve’s frown wrinkles his forehead. “On the tape, I saw you say ‘I love you, Bobby.’ So what was that all about?”</p><p>“I said it because it was the truth. And I wanted him to know at least once. He already knew I had feelings for him at that point, but he didn’t know the full truth. So I told him in the heat of the moment. You didn’t see him say it back so.”</p><p>Steve’s sorrow dries up in his mouth, but not in his eyes or heart. He aims all of it at Billy, wishes that had never happened to Billy. No one knows the extent of Robert Harrington’s cruelty better than Steve. And Billy, apparently. No wonder he almost punched Dad in the face. No wonder he started visiting less and less, stopped buying birthday presents for Steve. Steve just thought… it was natural. Because he was growing up, and you just stopped doing those things when you grew up. Little did he know all along Billy did it to protect himself. And Steve by proxy. If Dad belittled Billy and his feelings, he wasn’t above berating his son. Dad calls him fragile all the time. It makes sense, now. Dad’s fear about Steve turning out gay. Like Billy.</p><p>“I-I’m sorry, Uncle Billy,” he whimpers. “I’m so sorry…”</p><p>“Don’t be so quick to apologize for anything,” he drawls, although there’s no humor in it. “This is still fucked up, all this. And I’m not done explaining myself.”</p><p>Steve nods and finally reaches up to rub his eyes with the heels of his palms. How easily his sense of betrayal had washed away. How quickly he wants to forgive and forget. Billy is right, though. He shouldn’t do that. Like forgiving Billy over the Johnny thing and instantly wanting to jump into bed with him like it never happened. They’re not done talking about this, either. Steve needs to wait, needs to sort himself out. He’s still battling with anger and hurt. Mostly hurt now.</p><p>Tears under control again, Steve asks, “So you liked, um, loved him all along and just went with it to? To see if he would change his mind?”</p><p>His voice rises higher as he asks that. Because that sounds an awful lot like ‘conversion’ to him. Fuck his dad enough and eventually Bobby would want it the same as Billy. Steve resists that thought, though. There’s something else here.</p><p>Billy huffs with a smile and says, “No, I knew Bobby would never change. He was born climbing on titties and couldn’t get enough of your mom. All over her all the damn time.”</p><p>“Gross.”</p><p>Billy nods and goes on, “No, I just… wanted to pretend. Like I could keep your dad when everything was over, even though he was a terrible friend and only ever made me feel bad about myself. Reminded me of my old man all over again, but I loved him anyway. So when we graduated and he was planning on going back to Shithole, Indiana where he came from, I…” Billy sighs and looks away. “I asked him just once if he would stay here. With me.”</p><p>Steve’s heart breaks a little for Billy. For the young man he’d once been, so desperate to be loved and to not be alone. To be wanted. So desperate he would tie himself to someone who clearly despised what he was and tore him down every chance Dad got. Fragile. Failure. Faggot. </p><p>“He said no,” Steve whispers. It’s not a question. </p><p>Billy nods, again with a corner of his mouth twitching.</p><p>“Laughed in my face and told me he’d send me a wedding invitation when he and Theresa set a date. But to not bring someone with me unless it was a woman. Couldn’t have his dear, old daddy find out what he was doing in college while in California. Associating with my kind.”</p><p>It strikes Steve now. The unbearable need to comfort Billy and hold him, to touch him. Even though Steve had hollered for Billy to keep his distance. So Steve’s hands shake with uncertainty when they lift up from his lap. His fingers were content to remain tangled in a ball in his lap until now. He wants to beg and plead for Billy to let him have this, to let Steve give Billy comfort when no one else would. Everything inside him freezes when Billy flinches back. The barest twitch. Lips pressed into a flat line, Billy eyes him for a spell. To make sure this is what Steve wants. </p><p>“Please,” Steve croaks.</p><p>Eyes slipping shut, Billy bows his head ever so slightly. Steve isn’t content with just cradling Billy’s face like Billy does to him when he’s upset. So he takes the older man by the shoulders, despite Billy’s noise of surprise and the way he goes tense, and clings to Billy. Like naked photos of Robert Harrington don't surround them like an admission of guilt. Like Steve isn’t ready to go back home and punch his dad in his face and never speak to him again. Like Billy has answered his question yet…</p><p>“Steve…”</p><p>“Just!” Steve’s arms tighten around Billy’s neck. Billy isn’t holding him back, and that hurts. So Steve hides his face in dark blond hair and whines, “Just shut up for a second, okay? Just let me do this.”</p><p>It’s all the invitation Billy needs. He can’t know how much it means to Steve, how much it helps unlock his heart, that Billy just slides his arms around Steve to hold him back. Not as tightly as Steve holds him. But his hands are flat and warm on Steve’s back. Gentle like how they always are with him. Steve scoots to the edge of the bed to be closer to Billy, only stopping just short of pressing his whole body to Billy. That’s not a good idea right now. Even he recognizes that. He just needs to hold Billy right now is all. Because he can’t help but imagine Billy’s face frozen as Dad clapped him on the cheek, silly Billy thinking Bobby would stay, and then rambling all that bullshit off about marrying Mom. And how Billy must have felt in that moment watching the man he loved actually throw it all away and leave him without an ounce of remorse.</p><p>Billy is the one to nudge them apart. Steve fights it for a second on reflex, but he lets Billy go all the same. At least Billy doesn’t stand up or create more distance between them. Just sets them back to how they’d been, Steve’s hands now curled uselessly in his lap instead of bound up tightly. </p><p>“To answer your original question, though. About you and your dad and how all that ties together… I admit in the beginning, the very, very beginning,” he stresses, “that I thought about my relationship with Bobby when you confessed. And when I kissed you back that I was thinking about him. I won’t lie to you, Steve. I was thinking about him.”</p><p>Steve had already gathered that from what Billy said before. That Billy couldn’t stop thinking about Dad when it was all happening.</p><p>“But,” Billy adds carefully, waits for Steve to pick his head up again and meet his eyes. “I realized right away that you were nothing like Bobby. That the initial, physical attraction I could admit I had was because of how much you look like him, yea, but…” Billy shakes his head, struggles to untangle the words inside him. “But then we started talking on the phone and you told me about everything going on in your life. About your buddy Tommy, and how you were scared about failing classes, and how you thought a girl liked you, but you didn’t like her back.”</p><p>Steve blinks and frowns at all this.</p><p>“So? I thought I was annoying you, really. That you’d tell me to stop calling you or you’d stop answering…”</p><p>Billy shakes his head.</p><p>“No, buddy. You calling me was the happiest part of my day. Because Bobby was never so open with me. We were friends because we were in the same fraternity and had some classes together. We were never really friends. I knew that all along but denied it because I wanted him so much. But you actually… care about people, Steve.”</p><p>Now, Billy finally touches him. And Steve lets him, cranes his cheek into Billy’s palm when a big hand reaches for him. Steve’s heart lightens immediately, but he resists the customary kiss he would normally smear to the lines in Billy’s palm. He resists it because they’re not done talking. Steve still doesn’t know how to feel about all this, but he wants to. Still wants to kiss Billy even after all this.</p><p>A deep breath and Billy goes on, needs to get it out in one rush, “The more we talked, the more I realized you were nothing like Bobby. You looked like him, but that’s where it ended. You have feelings and you’re vulnerable and you cry! You let yourself cry.”</p><p>Steve snorts in Billy’s hand, can’t help mumbling, “I eat and go to the bathroom, too, just like a real boy.”</p><p>“Very funny, smartass.” But Billy smiles at him through it, so Steve cuddles into his palm. “My point is that as time went on, my feelings for you changed from being in Bobby’s shadow to loving you for who you are. You were what I wanted all those years ago. You just had Bobby’s face, so it was the best of both worlds. I could finally have Bobby and he’d love me like I wanted him to, and I wouldn’t have to deal with all his… hang ups.”</p><p>“His bullshit,” Steve supplies instead, finding the word more apt. “My parents are full of bullshit.”</p><p>Billy’s eyebrow flicks up like he’ll lecture Steve on cursing. But they’re pretty far past that conversation, now addressing the elephant in the room.</p><p>Squirming a little, Steve asks so small and afraid, “Is that how you see me? My dad’s face, but someone who will love you? Is that what you think of me?”</p><p>“Not anymore,” Billy fires off on the heels of Steve’s words. He shakes his head and lifts his other hand to hold Steve with both, finally petting his thumbs over dry tear tracks. “I meant what I said your first day here, Steve. You’ll never be your parents. You’ll never be your dad. I don’t think about him when I look at you, haven’t since Christmas.”</p><p>Ah, but that’s a lie. Billy slurred in his drunken state Friday night about Steve looking like Bobby. Does he even remember that?</p><p>“When we had sex Friday night, you said I looked like him.”</p><p>“I was drunk,” Billy defends with a frown.</p><p>Steve reaches up for Billy’s wrists with his own frown hot on his lips. He tugs those big hands away from his face even though Billy gives him a fight about it.</p><p>“So what? Does that make what you said just suddenly not matter? I hope you weren’t thinking about him while you were screwing me. That was my first time, and it sucked. A lot.”</p><p>“You…” Billy gives a tiny shake of his head, licks his lips to find the words. “You said you enjoyed yourself. When I asked the next morning.”</p><p>“I lied.” Steve’s eyes slam shut, and his grip on Billy’s wrists tightens to the point of pain. “I lied to not hurt your feelings, because I just wanted the rest of the weekend to be fun, and I didn’t wanna be a bummer, cuz I was scared you’d blame yourself or-or that you wouldn’t touch me anymore, cuz of the whole thing with Johnny, and I—”</p><p>“Okay, I get it, slow down. You’re gonna pop a gasket, Steve, just take a breath. I’m not mad at you for not saying something.”</p><p>Steve cracks an eye open.</p><p>“You’re not? But I lied… We don’t lie to each other.”</p><p>“I can… see why you lied. I understand why you did it, that you had good intentions. I hope from now on, if we continue this, you don’t do it again? You gotta tell me when I’m hurting you, baby.”</p><p>Oh that feels good. To hear Billy call him one of his pet names. Deflating with his admission, Steve tugs Billy’s hands back to his face. The embarrassed heat of him sinks right into Billy’s palms.</p><p>“I won’t lie again, I promise.”</p><p>Thumbs pet him, and then quietly, “Did I hurt you?”</p><p>Steve doesn’t meet Billy’s eyes when he whispers, “A little. When I was cleaning up there was blood.” Billy’s hands flinch and try to rip back, but Steve clings to them and yells, “It wasn’t a lot! It was just a tiny bit, I promise!”</p><p>He forces his eyes open and meets Billy’s. So betrayed and full of self-hatred. Billy looks away first. He’s never done that before, refused to meet Steve’s eyes. Those straight, white teeth of his grind when he clenches his jaw.</p><p>“It’s fine, Billy, really, it was my first time, it-it was supposed to hurt anyway, I—”</p><p>“Who told you that?” Billy stares hard at him. They’re so close Steve can see himself in Billy’s eyes. “Who told you that horseshit?”</p><p>Steve cowers a little and blurts, “T-Tommy and Carol. She said it hurt her first time, so…”</p><p>Billy is already shaking his head before Steve even finishes. Gnashing his teeth to hold the rage back, Billy looks away again and just keeps shaking his head. So, Steve slips a hand free from where he clings to Billy’s wrists and flattens it in the middle of that barrel chest. Blue eyes glance down to it first before regarding Steve’s tentative smile. Not happy, not even close. But it’s for Billy so that Billy knows Steve doesn’t hate him over that. Over any of this. He doesn’t know how to feel about the whole Dad thing, but he doesn’t love Billy any less because of his first time. He’d forgiven Billy immediately and won’t be convinced otherwise.</p><p>“I-I could have stopped you. You told me before you started to say if you were hurting me. And I didn’t say anything. But you woulda stopped if I did. I know you woulda stopped.”</p><p>Billy almost looks angry, face pinched a little, when he snatches up Steve’s hand from his chest. Steve still has a firm grasp on Billy’s other hand cupping his jaw, won’t let that one go for anything. But this is nice, how Billy holds his hand up to kiss the center of his palm. Once, twice, and then just holds his mouth there. His moustache scratches like it always does. And when blue eyes crack open, they are fierce in their stare. </p><p>“Of course I would have stopped. It’s my fault this happened, I shouldn’t have come stumbling into the tent like some drunk bastard and touched you.”</p><p>“I said yes,” Steve points out.</p><p>“I still should have stopped, Steve. I didn’t know I was hurting you. What if I’d hurt you more, huh? What if it was more than just a little bit of blood?”</p><p>Steve gives a hopeless sort of shrug.</p><p>“I don’t know? What do you want me to say to that, Billy? I-I’ll speak up next time, but I don’t regret it. I don’t regret having sex with you, and I want to again.”</p><p>Billy shoots him a withered look, and Steve is quick to add, “Not right now, duh! This is a lot to fucking talk about, man, my feelings are all over the place. That still doesn’t change the fact that I’d have sex with you again even after what happened.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t,” Billy insists.</p><p>“Well I do,” Steve fires right back, ready to get bratty with it. “And you can’t change my mind, so there.”</p><p>Billy’s teeth are out when he hisses, “I practically raped you!”</p><p>Steve barks a single laugh in his face.</p><p>“Uh, I don’t know a lot, but I think I’d know when someone was raping me, Uncle Billy. I’m not that stupid.”</p><p>Fingers tangled in the front of Billy’s shirt, Steve coaxes him closer again. Billy fights him for a split second, face severe for that brief moment, but Steve hugs him around the neck all the same. He doesn’t relax until Billy’s hands find his back again, like before. This embrace is more resigned than the last. But Steve’s mind will not be changed on the matter. They’re equally stubborn.</p><p>Nuzzling Billy’s hair, Steve murmurs, “I know you’d never hurt me on purpose. I know you didn’t mean to, and I promise I’ll say if you’re hurting me next time. If… if there’s a next time.”</p><p>“That’s up to you, little man,” rumbles from his shoulder where Billy rests his head. “I get if this stuff with your dad changes how you feel about me. I’m not… expecting you to be okay with it. It’s fucked up.”</p><p>“But you want me to be okay with it. Like, you want me to still feel the same about you.”</p><p>Billy sighs in his shoulder and holds him tighter.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter what I want, baby. It matters what you want. You’re not the one who royally fucked this whole thing up. I am.”</p><p>Billy has said so many times that Steve needs to think about his feelings. About what he wants. That jumping into things didn’t work for Billy when Billy was his age. How does he feel about all this? The moment is too hot and bright still for him to sort it all out. And Billy being near him just makes Steve want to kiss him and forget about all this and just keep on how they were. But they can’t now. Because Billy’s dirty secret is out. Well, one of his dirty secrets is out. It would… be the mature thing to take some time and think things through. Think about what he wants.</p><p>“Can um… I wanna do the right thing and think about it all. Like you’re always saying. I don’t know if I can do that with you here?” Steve arms tighten around Billy like he’s already leaving. Even his chest and throat go tight. “I wanna kiss you so bad right now, but I know I shouldn’t. What do I do, Uncle Billy?”</p><p>A sigh from Billy shifts Steve’s arms clinging to him. Billy rubs his back, preparing him for whatever heavy thought is on his mind. Steve knows before Billy opens his mouth that he’ll hate it.</p><p>“Tonight I’ll… I’ll go stay with a friend. So you can be alone and think about things. Everything, Steve, I mean it. Everything that’s happened between us since Christmas.” Billy squeezes a hand between them to urge them apart. Steve hates that even more than Billy leaving. But he knows it’s the right thing to do. “I mean it. I don’t want you to jump back into things with me and then decide later you regret it. If you want me, then you can have me. Decide what you wanna do. Okay?”</p><p>One of Billy’s hands can’t stay away, seeks out his cheek in spite of everything. And Steve turns his head like the faithful boy he is and presses his nose and his own kisses to Billy’s rough palm. It’s the most he’ll get out of Billy right now even though his soft heart cries out for more.</p><p>“Okay… Do you still want me?”</p><p>“Yes.” But quickly he tacks on, “It doesn’t matter what I want, baby. This isn’t about me.”</p><p>Steve nods in his hand and mumbles, “I know, I promise I’ll think about it. About everything. I just… wanted to hear you say it. So I know you still feel the same.”</p><p>Billy reels him in, and Steve’s heart breaks all over again when Billy’s moustache scratches his forehead in a kiss. If only Billy would kiss him for real. If only this didn’t feel like a kiss goodbye. A final kiss.</p><p>Lips brushing his forehead with every word, Billy murmurs, “I love you, Steve. I’ll love you no matter what you decide.” He pulls them apart and nudges Steve’s jaw up to make doe eyes meet his. “Do you understand? My feelings and what I expect of you?”</p><p>How badly he wants to say that he loves Billy, too. Because he does, and even if he decides he can’t be with Billy after this, he’ll still love Billy. It’s too scary to think about leaving San Diego and his relationship behind. Over before it's truly started. Because Steve has made plans and thought of ‘what ifs’ the entire time they’ve been together. Since Christmas and even now, he thinks about living here with Billy. Maybe not this gross apartment, but somewhere in San Diego with him. And they’d run Billy’s shop together, and Billy could love him properly once Steve is 18, and no one could stop them. He’d never have to see his shitty parents ever again. It’s a future he dreams about, thought about on lonely nights when he missed Billy so much he couldn’t stand it. He still believes in it and their love. He just needs time to sort through it all.</p><p>They separate with a delicate, shaky breath from Steve. He doesn’t want to cry in front of Billy any more today. Not ever if he could help it. Then again… Billy had mentioned Steve letting himself cry was something good about him. Billy is the one who forces everything down and bottles it up. Not Steve. So he tries not to let shame wash over him when he blinks wet eyes at Billy. There’s just the matter of the ‘Bobby’ box and its contents to deal with. Steve knows what he wants to do with it all. But for right now, he at least needs Billy to take it away from here. He can’t be around it. Steve knows he’ll sit here for the rest of the day and into the night just looking at all the pictures and watching the tape until it wears out. He needs it out of here.</p><p>“Uncle Billy?”</p><p>“What is it, baby?”</p><p>Steve nods to the Polaroids on the bed.</p><p>“When um, when you leave to stay with your friend, will you take this stuff with you? I don’t wanna see it anymore.”</p><p>“Of course.” The thumb under his eye pets him so gently. “Anything else?”</p><p>“When will you come back?”</p><p>“Tomorrow. Probably noon like today. I… wasn’t planning on coming back once I leave to go back to the shop. I was gonna grab some clothes right now and split so you can be alone.”</p><p>Oh. Steve hadn’t thought about that. About Billy leaving right this second. It’s probably for the best—a clean break so Steve has plenty of time. Even if Steve twists up inside thinking about Billy being gone for that long. Because they’ve barely seen each other today as it is, and most of it was fucking horrible and them yelling at each other. This isn’t something to decide on a whim. He should take this time and really think about what he wants. Billy has… hurt him so much since Steve landed at the airport a week ago. None of it intentional. It’s still a lot, though. Would Steve forgive anyone else for hurting him so much? Probably not. It’s a lot to think about.</p><p>“Okay. It’s gonna be lonely sleeping without you here.”</p><p>Billy nods.</p><p>“I’m gonna miss you, too.”</p><p>They may as well rip the bandaid off, though. Steve wiggles out of Billy’s hand and slips past him to go sit in the living room. He doesn’t want to watch Billy pick up the Polaroids or fuss with the VHS tape. He can’t bear to watch Billy’s face through it all. To see memories and emotions flick over that stony visage. So he plops in the recliner with his legs all bundled up against him and just waits. The mulling cannot begin until Billy leaves. Otherwise Steve is liable to throw himself at Billy and beg him not to go. So Steve roots himself to the recliner, may even sleep out here tonight, when Billy emerges with a plastic bag of clothes and the shoebox. It’s tucked under his arm. Steve wants to burn it and its contents, but he won’t say that to Billy. Not yet.</p><p>“Okay,” Billy sighs. “Thanks for… cleaning up the clothes in my room. I guess that’s how you found this, huh?”</p><p>He waggles the cursed shoebox. Steve nods over the bumps of his knees, not meeting Billy’s eyes.</p><p>“Okay,” he says again, softer than before. “I’m gonna leave my friend’s number on the fridge. Call me if you need anything. Or call 911 if it’s an emergency.”</p><p>Steve nods again. He has to dig his nails into his legs to stop himself from getting up and hugging Billy to him. Don’t go, please don’t go, I don’t want you to go…</p><p>But Billy crosses the small apartment to the front door, keys already in his hand. Billy opening the door welcomes a draft of balmy heat in, and Steve pops up in the recliner like he’ll finally break down and stop Billy from leaving. Billy glances up from his keys in his hands just as the door swings shut. No words. Just a flash of a smile, so uncertain and vulnerable. Like Billy has a stake in this and just couldn’t tell Steve to his face. Steve keeps it together long enough for the Camaro’s door to open and slam, for the engine to turn over. It’s only once Billy backs out and is long gone does Steve slump into the arm of the recliner, curl up around his heartache, and let himself cry hard and loud and breathless like he needs to. It’s the first of many cries he’ll have tonight.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's over! =D Finally. You wouldn't believe the deleted scenes this fic has. See, the original premise of this fic was just to be porn lol. So there was supposed to be uh... a lot more filthy sex that would probably make you suspicious of Billy's intentions even more. How does a fic go from being porn to plot? Excellent question, please tell me if you know, because I'm not in control of any of this shit. Just to give you an idea of HOW saturated this fic was supposed to be, take a gander below lol. Otherwise, enjoy the conclusion and maybe leave a comment.</p>
<p>Deleted smut 1: set at the closing of chapter two. Billy and Steve were supposed to have their first brush all the way back then! But already jumping into sex went against the tone of the fic and the characterization I'd made for Billy. So it was the first to be cut.<br/>Deleted smut 2: there was supposed to be a lot more phone sex lol.<br/>Deleted smut 3: Steve and Billy were meant to fool around in Billy's gift shop.<br/>An actual deleted scene: while camping, Steve was going to wander around instead of sitting with Billy at the BBQ pit. I was going to have him find a very fresh kill from a mountain lion and freak out. But Billy would have calmed him down, and they would have terrible tent sex. So that scene didn't progress the plot any, so it was cut. Steve already had a bad enough time on vacation, he didn't need that too lol.<br/>Deleted smut 4: make-up sex. I actually wrote half of that scene, but removed it for tone purposes. It was basically centered around Billy wanting to "make up" for Steve's really shite first time. But it was extremely gratuitous, to the point where it stuck out and was like... almost garish? It was extremely hot, but it didn't fit the rest of the narrative. PLUS the story was dragging out and I really, really wanted it finished before I lost all motivation to complete it. So it was cut at the last second so I could write this ending instead.<br/>Final deleted smut: this was actually included in the initial planning process of this fic, a scene where Steve and Billy recreate the Bobby box but between the two of them. Steve was going to feel A LOT more insecure about it than he ended up. So he was going to suggest Billy get a Polaroid and a camcorder and just recreate all the photos and the sex tape. But this too really went against the tone of the fic. So the idea never made it past the concept phase.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s Tuesday when the apartment door opens with a bit of suction and Billy calls out, “Steve?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first, Steve thinks it’s a dream. Because of course he’s been thinking about Billy non-stop. Well, that’s normal for him actually, but like actively thinking about Billy… Okay, so he does that anyway, but he’d done as Billy asked and sorted himself out. How he feels about the whole Dad thing and what he wants to do from this moment forward. So he almost slams right into the floor when he throws himself out of bed, caught in a tangle of one of Billy’s dress shirts and the blanket tucked around him. He’s only wearing Billy’s shirt with the buttons undone and clean underwear when he runs for Billy still standing in the living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve knocks the air out of Billy’s middle when he wraps himself around the older man. His dream just now, truly asleep until Billy had called his name, was of something like this. Of charging at Billy with smiles on their faces, and Billy would pick him up and spin him around, and they’d kiss and never fight again. Of course that’s just a dream, but Steve makes the best of reality, too. When Billy’s hesitation calms some and he smooths his hands up and down Steve’s back, chuckling in Steve’s ear, Steve makes his move.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shot of tension spears through Billy when Steve lifts his head. Steve pays it no mind. Billy’s hesitation is born of ignorance. Billy doesn’t know what Steve has decided, acts on caution because he no longer knows the boundaries between them. Steve’s hands slip up from Billy’s back, across his chest, and then take his shoulders. Using that leverage, Steve arches himself into Billy’s personal space and angles his head in that perfect way. He wants a kiss if Billy will give him one. Steve goes slipping on his toes in the carpet when Billy’s arms zip tightly around him, dragging him forward and against his firm body. He doesn’t sacrifice a hand to cup Steve’s face, just angles his head in kind to meet Steve’s cherry lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, he tries to murmur, “Steve,” in warning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like they shouldn’t kiss. But Steve gives him a whine back, ignoring the warning, and takes the kiss he wants. Billy exhales hard, maybe louder than he needs to. It’s not enough to deter or sway Steve from what he wants. He wiggles on his toes and leans more weight against Billy’s chest, squeals a little when Billy’s hands help press him tighter, too. It’s just a kiss. Steve isn’t going to let it get heavier and hotter than that. Although he wouldn’t mind Billy petting his hair, since last night had been so lonely Steve took to sleeping with Billy’s pillow on top of his head. Just for the weight and pressure. He couldn’t quite convince himself to pet his own hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they part, Steve is still in Billy’s breathing space when he whispers, “I missed you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy doesn’t make him wait for a tight hug back and a deep, “Me too, baby.” He nudges them apart with his hands on Steve’s hips where they belong. Where Steve has missed their weight. “Guess you did a lot of thinking, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A nod.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You ready to talk about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another nod, no hesitation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” Billy gives as few nods as he licks over his bottom lip. “Well… Why don’t I go to the corner, get us some tacos, and I’ll bring them back and you can tell me everything. Deal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He won’t say no to that, hasn’t eaten since the leftovers yesterday. He couldn’t stomach food while his heart and head were in turmoil. Now he’s ravenous. Ravenous for food, Billy, and the closeness they share. So it tickles Steve when Billy sort of lingers in the doorway. Maybe he’s been thinking about Steve this whole time too and doesn’t want to leave again. Billy probably worried that Steve would call everything off, would tattle to his parents or maybe the cops. Even if Steve were still upset over the whole… Billy fucking his dad thing, he wouldn’t stoop that low. If he were going down that road, he would cut ties with Billy and just mourn what could have been when he got home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that’s not what he’s decided, so he smiles at Billy where he folds himself on the couch. Still in nothing but underwear and Billy’s dress shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hurry, I’m hungry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That gets Steve a slight bob of Billy’s head as he smiles back. His huff of amusement doesn’t make it to Steve over the hum of the AC chugging along. He’s waited this long to have Billy back by his side, near enough to touch. He can wait long enough for Billy to bring back tacos.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although convincing his fidgety hands and nervous energy of that is easier said than done. All at once, Steve wants to pop up from the couch and pace, run his hands through his hair, maybe go outside and actually run. What is Billy going to say when they finally talk? Will he accept that Steve wants to continue their relationship? That at the end of the day, he’s not mad about finding the photos and tape? Sort of grossed out like when he thinks about his parents having sex, sure, but not upset.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needs Billy to talk to him more. And Steve needs to talk to Billy more, too. He gets so wrapped up in uncertainties and silences that he invents things that aren’t real. Like Billy thinking he’s not good enough or thinking Billy doesn’t want him for whatever arbitrary reason. None of that was true, but Steve wound himself up like a top and made a mess while spinning himself out. They need to talk more and be open with each other. No more skeletons jumping out of the closet just when Steve thinks they’re safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when Billy nudges the front door open with his shoulder and joins Steve on the couch, handing fish tacos off to the teenager, Steve doesn’t immediately dig in. Despite his hunger and how his stomach gurgles at the scent of hot food, he sits there and stares at the shredded cabbage sprinkled over three tacos. Stealing a peek at Billy, he finds the older man with his shoes already kicked off, one hand loose around the remote with his food in the other. When Billy settles on a channel, he hunches over what smells and looks like pulled pork tacos while eating them messy and loud with his mouth open as he chews. It’s not charming, but Steve has to roll a smile between his lips anyway. Or at least he tries to, because Billy stops mid bite with his jaw practically unhinged, sauce in his moustache, and stares at Steve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve gives a shrug, needing the shuffle of skin and bones to work out some of his nerves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just missed you is all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re not sitting as close as they could be. Steve tries not to read into it. He does that way too much with Billy. It’s all part of his insecurities about Billy, and he needs to work on that. So Steve doesn’t hop closer to Billy, but he does perk up when a jean-covered knee knocks into his foot pinned under crossed legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Steve glances up, stars in his eyes and hopeful, Billy nods to the untouched food in his lap and says, “Eat. We’ll talk when we’re done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he has to at least get one thing out. So that Billy knows where they stand, that Steve isn’t ending this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So staring at said food waiting for him and growing soggy by the minute, Steve blurts out, “I’m not mad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chatter from whatever station Billy had landed on takes over the room. Over the uncharming sounds of one of them stuffing his face. Steve wishes that were him right now, but he needed to get that much out… Maybe a little bit more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I still love you, Uncle Billy,” he says so softly, voice threatening to crack despite his best effort to keep his tenor even. “I’m not mad, and I still love you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Billy nudges him again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t let it hurt that Billy doesn’t say it back. They’ll talk when they’re done eating. And once Steve tears into his food, it won’t be a long wait. One hunger slaked at a time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy stands first with his trash cradled in his hands. He grunts when he rises but otherwise says nothing while making for the kitchen. Steve scrambles to finish and trail behind him. Trash disposed of, Steve waits at Billy’s hip to wash his hands, too. Using the sink and soap in the bathroom would speed this up, but Steve cannot convince himself to leave Billy for that long. Not that Billy will magically disappear or anything. He just… They only have until Friday. Steve leaves to go back home Saturday morning. He wants them to get over the hurdle of this dirty secret now exposed. So that everything will be normal again. They can kiss and hug and touch again. Steve just wants the memory of this weekend and yesterday to go away forever. Wishes none of that had ever happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Letting his weight fall back onto the couch, in his spot in front of the TV, Billy braces his arms across the back of the sofa. His feet end up on the coffee table with ankles crossed. Relaxed. Although his fingers sort of drum on the cushion smashed under his back. And a bounce starts on the foot that’s on top. Steve hesitates with his hands bundled against his chest, long fingers clean and soft from soap. Of course he wants to dash across the small living room and jump on the couch, into Billy’s lap. But as much as he wants the awful memories of the past few days to evaporate from the grey matter between his ears, he knows that’s not possible. That’s kid stuff. So he approaches when Billy looks at him and reclaims his spot on the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Head turning back to face the changing glow of the TV, Billy says, “So.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Steve parrots back. “Um… Where-where should I start?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wherever you want, little man. You probably got a lot to say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t feel like ‘a lot.’ It’d just been plenty of knee-jerk emotions to sort through. Because he always reacts too hotly, no thoughts behind the lurch of his insides with dread or happiness. It’s an animal thing when he just shoots his mouth off or gets tangled in the web of bullshit he makes for himself in the silence. Kid stuff, just shouting ‘no’ when he’s told he can’t have something and then pouting about it. He needs to stop doing that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess. I just thought a lot about how I think too much about stuff and I see things that aren’t there? If that makes sense?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you explain it to me so I understand. Gimme an example.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve wiggles that much closer to Billy. He’s warm, damn it, and all Steve is wearing is underwear and a dress shirt. That and he misses Billy, wishes Billy would give him a sign that it’s okay to touch him. Although…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I…?” Steve chews it over. He needs to ask. He can’t keep waiting for ‘a sign’ when Billy is clueless as to what he wants. Billy isn’t a fucking mind reader. “Can I touch you? Like lean on you or something?” He’s already leaning with the gravity of his love, so ready to rejoin Billy’s orbit. “I really miss you, and sleeping alone last night sucked. I promise I’m not jumping into things, I-I’ll keep my hands to myself, just please—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s left hand perched on the back of the sofa cups Steve’s far shoulder and reels him in. A little smile tugs at the corners of Billy’s mouth, but he doesn’t let it run wild. That would risk Steve taking it wrong, like Billy is teasing him. Steve can’t handle that right now. As playful as Steve knows it would be, he needs Billy’s honesty right now. But he needs this, too, and helps himself to Billy’s side. Cuddling close until there’s no more space between them, Steve doesn’t hesitate at all to rest his head on Billy’s chest. He has to scrunch down to do it, but it’s right where he wants to be. The tension he’d wound up like he always does spills right out of him with a sigh. He’s almost a puddle beside Billy when that paw of a hand pets his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve nods and rubs his cheek into Billy through the stretch of his t-shirt. The plastic bag of Billy’s clothes from yesterday and the awful box aren’t here. Billy must have left them in the Camaro. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Steve sighs and relaxes further, Billy squeezes him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… You were explaining how you overthink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve gives a little jolt of a startle, oh right, and blurts, “So like… When Johnny showed up at the gift shop again and we walked home, I was mad at you all over again. Because Johnny was touching you a lot and hanging all over you, and I know you hate that. So I kept thinking about why you were letting him do it and why you were letting him come home with us when we just talked about how he was only a friend. So I…” Steve deflates some and turns to hide his face in Billy’s chest. The hand in his hair doesn’t let him do that for long, coaxes him back out with tight circles rubbed into his scalp. “So I just thought you didn’t understand me or weren’t listening to me. Like my parents do. But it was all just a misunderstanding. That… happens a lot to us, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy sighs, “It really does.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t let him get more in, steamrolls right over Billy’s lips about to form words with, “So I wanna work on that. Stop jumping to conclusions all the time and just talk to you when I feel like that again. And like when we were camping last weekend and I said all that stuff about me not being good enough for you?” Steve flings a hand out in front of him, searching for answers. “Like? Why did I think that? You didn’t say or do anything that made me think that. I just did it myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You doubt yourself a lot.” Billy squeezes him again. Then pressure on the top of Steve’s head, surely a kiss. “That’s what I was getting at when I told you not to worry so much, baby. I’m glad you said something at the time, though, so I could reassure you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, Steve nuzzles warmth under cotton and says, “I really need to talk to you more when I  have stupid thoughts like that. When I’m being stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not stupid,” Billy drawls above him. “Don’t call yourself stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve huffs but doesn’t argue. Billy defending him like that is like a hand petting him all over. A pleasant shiver runs through him. Greediness rising, Steve smooths a hand across Billy’s chest just to touch him back. He won’t reach for anything more, lets his hand come to rest in the center of Billy’s chest. Billy allows it, so Steve will take all he can get. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So you figured out you need to talk more, which is good. Did you decide what you wanna do about the whole…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve nods without picking his head up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not mad, and I don’t hate you.” He huddles tighter into Billy’s side and curls his fingers in Billy’s shirt, holding on. “I’m still sort of grossed out by the idea of you and my dad but… If I think about it in a different way, that like… ‘Bobby’ wasn’t my dad yet, he was a different person, then it’s easier to think about. Cuz now that I know about all that, I just think about every time you’ve been over for visits and Dad would be weird around you. Cuz I can connect the dots now, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Makes sense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, Steve forces himself to sit up. This is the hard part. The part where he asks Billy to be honest with him like he wants to be with Billy. They need that transparency or Steve will chase his tail in uncertainty. Steve never wants this to happen again. His heart can’t take it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So… Is there anything else that I don’t know about? Like not just between you and… Bobby”—uhg, Dad’s name sounds so weird to say in this context—“just in general? I feel like we’re going along fine and then I find out something new about you that fucks up everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A corner of Billy’s mouth twitches when he murmurs, “Language,” but he doesn’t pursue it. He sighs, shuffles with Steve in his arm, and then dives his hand back into soft hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t think of any more skeletons in my closet, at least not big things like this. Got some porn lying around, like a tape or two and some magazines but.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy eyes the entertainment system across the way. Steve wonders if he means the tapes without labels. Billy doesn’t know he’d poked through that. Never found any dirty magazines though…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cutting through Steve’s musing, Billy goes on with, “But none of that has anything to do with your dad. I kept all that shit together. I haven’t thought about those photos and all that in a while, Steve. I really don’t know how I ever would have brought this up to you? If it were up to me, you never woulda found out, it woulda been left buried in the closet. I don’t like keeping shit from you, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s mouth screws up as he struggles for words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t imagine sitting you down and explaining, ‘Hey Stevie, check out these naked pictures I have of your dad. Don’t freak out, I just boned your dad a lot when we were in college, no big deal, he doesn’t hold a grudge against me or anything, oh and by the way I thought about him a few times with my tongue down your throat, hope that’s okay.’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve knows Billy doesn’t mean to be funny. But that’s how it comes off with Billy’s voice going silly and his face screwed up as he hypothetically explains himself. It’s cute in the way that Billy is cute with things. When he curses at inanimate objects or begs for them to work with him. Or when he patronizes an annoying customer while they’re oblivious. Steve is sure that to anyone else, Billy just comes off as an asshole. And Billy is an asshole. But Steve loves him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yea, I guess you’re right. I just wish I didn’t find out the way I did. Is it bad that I wish I never knew, too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A smile ticks at the corner of Billy’s lips. Not quite humorless, but fondness for Steve is there. The hand on Steve’s head urges him forward, and Steve’s heart jumps to think Billy will kiss him. He does, just not where Steve wants. Warm lips to his forehead, Billy kisses him once and then holds him there. It’s oddly tender for Billy, but he has his moments. Steve recalls Billy comforting him during his moment of confession all those months ago. And Billy reassuring him when Steve could find the courage to open his mouth and admit his vulnerability. Billy is not made of softness, but it is within him. At least for Steve it is within him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sigh blows over Steve’s brow when Billy finally sits backs, murmurs, “Ignorance is bliss, Stevie. Can’t put the genie back in the bottle, though. At least now you know the truth and everything.” Billy eyes him. “You know I don’t have feelings for your dad, right? That died years ago. I pretty much only tolerate him now to annoy your family and see you. And I don’t think of you as his replacement or any of that shit. I love you for who you are. You know that, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He does, but Jesus does it pet him in all the right ways to hear. Billy’s hand comes sliding around through Steve’s hair to cup his jaw and thumb his cheek. Tension slips right out of Steve like draining a bath. He sighs into Billy’s caress and makes sure to lean into it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. And you believe me, right? If you have any doubts, I need to know so I can convince you or whatever.” Billy tips his head up despite Steve’s skittish ways and holds him there, waiting for eye contact. When he snags the briefest of connections, he says lowly, “It’d be easy to just give up and let you go back to Hawkins, forget we ever did any of this. But I don’t want to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t want to, either,” Steve rushes out like his life depends on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knows he should stay seated and not lean into Billy, not climb all over him. But much like his frantic need to reassure Billy early on, he needs the closeness too. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Better than Billy telling him no. So he wiggles out of Billy’s hand and avoids the curious stare that tracks him all while he twists around and helps himself to Billy’s lap. Steve drops his weight too hard, popping a grunt out of Billy when ass meets thighs. Straddling Billy, Steve wastes no time in taking advantage of that second to cuddle as close as he can. Before Billy’s hands scoop him up and deposit him right back on the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t mean anything by grinding into muscled thighs and the crotch of Billy’s jeans… Well, he doesn’t mean much. Billy is always the one slowing them down or telling Steve no. So Billy sighing under him and his arms drifting up to wrap around Steve are a surprise. Holding him instead of pushing him away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve almost can’t believe his luck, but he knows they’re not done yet. There’s the matter of what’s to become of them after Steve goes home, as he ages. He wants a firm answer on that. No vagueness. And that awful box. He’s thought plenty on what he wants to happen to it and its contents. He huffs and tucks his face to the warm column of Billy’s throat. Not to kiss or do anything to him, because he doesn’t want to get told off. Billy’s shirts and the pillows in the bedroom only take Steve so far. He’d missed pressing his nose to golden skin and letting the salt and body smell of Billy hit the back of his throat. Steve can never hope to explain to Billy or anyone else why he loves smelling Billy so much. Maybe he’s weird.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hand in Steve’s hair again, Billy coaxes him out with an amused, “Hey, we’re not done,” and carefully tugs on silky strands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A pout is already on Steve’s lips when he huffs, “I wasn’t doing anything. I just wanted to be close to you before you make me sit next to you again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanna sit in my lap?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Heat does not steam those words. It’s a genuine question, and Steve picks his head up to meet Billy’s neutral expression. Softer at the edges compared to his resting face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pink rises in Steve’s cheeks despite his efforts to remain cool when he mutters, “All the time, yea. I just wanna be near you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A corner of Billy’s mouth twitches up again. Steve is slowly beginning to recognize it as fond amusement. He doesn’t see Billy make that expression with anyone but him. It’s just for Steve. Special.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I always forget how much you like being around me. Normally I’m not big on people touching me all the time and being all over me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve cowers a little, shoulders hunching on reflex, and he mumbles, “Sorry…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be sorry, Stevie, I like it,” he says with a smile and easy grin. His hands find Steve’s hips like always, where they belong, and Steve squirms so pretty for him. Rubbing himself in Billy’s lap even though he doesn’t mean to. “I don’t know what it is about you. Maybe I’m used to you climbing all over me, who knows.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You… don’t mind? Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s all he’s ever wanted. For someone to pick him up and hold him again like when he was a child. Rushing Billy when he arrives on Christmas is something Steve looks forward to, has dreaded the last time Billy would ever hold him like that. Because of course Steve is still growing. He’ll be too tall or too heavy for Billy to pick up much longer. Well, maybe not too heavy, but too cumbersome. That doesn’t mean Steve can’t love on him in easier ways. Like sitting in his lap. It’s a shame they had to fuck like this only for it to be horrible. Steve shuffles on his spread knees and hopes they try again. Soon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve wiggles all the closer when Billy’s hands squeeze him and he murmurs, “I don’t mind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shiver races through Steve. Boy, how he’d love to jump straight into the hooded look Billy gives him and just tear each other apart. But much like the flop of Steve’s belly is reflexive when Billy looks at him like this, he’s sure the bedroom eyes are reflexive in Billy, too. Because he blinks and the expression smooths right over. Again, they’re not done talking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I’m glad you don’t mind. I really missed you,” Steve admits, building himself up to address the box of horrors. “And I wanna touch you and kiss you again, but…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve slumps forward. He can’t face Billy when he says this. Because if Billy says no, then… Steve isn’t sure where to go from here. Billy had been so agreeable about the whole Johnny thing. Will that ease continue here? Is Steve asking too much?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But… I hate the pictures of you and da-Bobby together. And the tape.” Steve presses his face flush to the warmth in Billy’s neck again, shaking. His hands trapped between their chests tighten in Billy’s shirt. “I hate them a lot and want you to get rid of them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve holds his breath, ready for Billy to tell him that he's being unreasonable, that the pictures don’t matter, that Steve should get over it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve rips himself out of his hiding place to find Billy’s expression still softened at the edges. No impatience; no annoyance. Just okay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? It’s that easy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have kept them in the first place,” Billy says lowly while holding Steve’s gaze for a few seconds. When he looks away, he adds, “I should have thrown all that shit away the moment Bobby rejected me and took your mom home to marry her. But I didn’t, because I was such an idiot for your dad.” A humorless huff jostles Steve in his lap. “Coulda, shoulda, woulda, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If Billy means that to get a smile or laugh out of Steve, it doesn’t work. It just makes him sad, how hopeless Billy sounds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You said you’re over him, right? So… you’re not”—Steve rolls his eyes—“an idiot for Bobby anymore. I don’t blame you for liking him. And… it’s not like you kept all that stuff because you wanted to hurt me. I wasn’t alive when you guys made that stuff.” He tries for a smile, hoping Billy will give him one back. He doesn’t, but at least Billy looks at him again. “You kept all that stuff because he was important to you. I kept all the birthday and Christmas cards you ever sent me, so…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Embarrassment over admitting that only pinks him a little. Just a tinge of color. He keeps all of the cards Billy has ever sent him, even if it was just signed ‘Uncle Billy’ and nothing else, in a big, yellow envelope he swiped from Dad’s office. He hides that under his nightstand, already smart enough to know that hiding it under his mattress or in his sock drawer isn’t too clever. That’s how Tommy ended up showing Steve his older brother’s dirty magazines, after all. Because Tommy’s big brother isn’t too smart and just shoved them between his mattress and box spring like everybody else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve couldn’t risk his mom or a nanny finding his little secret. His parents would wonder, start thinking. Especially Dad, now knowing what Steve knows. About Dad’s grudge and wildly inappropriate accusation towards Billy. He’ll overlook that, okay, technically? Billy is fooling around with him while he’s underage… But it’s not like Dad thinks. Billy isn’t taking advantage of him. Dad will never know anyway. Steve will make sure he never finds out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now Billy’s mouth sort of twitches with amusement. Finally a lightening of the atmosphere. Steve can breathe again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Steve warms, although he smiles through it. “I told you I loved you for a long time, okay? I just didn’t understand it until I got older. And actually, I-we should talk about that, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shifting to drop his weight onto Billy’s thighs, just being playful, Steve says with a shy smile, “I wanna be with you when I get older. Like when I’m 18 and we don’t have to hide, or at least not that part.” Billy’s shoulders call to his fidgety hands, and so Steve smoothes them up Billy’s chest to hold on to him. “Do you want that too? Do you wanna be with me when I’m older?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that a question?” Billy finally smirks under his moustache and flicks up an eyebrow. “Not that I want you to grow up fast or anything, but I can’t wait until you mature a little bit more. A lot of the insecurity shit you’ve been talking about will chill out the older you get. Plus, you know, I won’t be fooling around with a teenager anymore, so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know how much you love that.” Steve snorts and rolls his eyes. But he cools it when Billy eyes him yet again. Not quite stern but about to be. Steve shuffles under Billy’s hands at his hips and mutters, “So this is really okay? About the box and us staying together? You’re not joking, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And why would I joke about that?” Billy tilts his chin up in a challenge. “Seems like a mean thing to do to a pretty boy like you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yea, but you’re mean, so.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve can’t keep the facade up, though. He bites a grin halfway through that sentence, too excited at the prospect of loving and being loved by Billy for… the foreseeable future. Hopefully the rest of his life. He squirms despite himself and despite Billy’s carefully controlled smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I cannot deny that,” he drawls while squeezing Steve’s hips. “And stop with all that wiggling around. Gonna make me think you’re up to something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve peeks from under his bangs with his teeth in his lip when he asks, “And what if I am up to something?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gives another wiggle, deliberate in his intentions this time. Billy doesn’t entertain that for long, pins him down with only a modicum of his strength. His face is all business, head cocking in a way that means Steve should stop before Billy has to tell him to. Blue eyes stare him down under that scarred eyebrow flicked up. Down, boy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If I were a good person, I’d tell you not to be so eager to jump back on my dick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you’re not a good person?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve says it with hope in the question. Because he very much wants Billy to not take the moral high ground. Like usual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wiggling all the more, Steve leans into the bratty whine in his voice when he complains, “You're always telling us to slow down and not do things when you clearly want to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yea cuz I’m older than you and have insight you don’t. Being impulsive all the time isn’t a good thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but you admit you wanna fool around right now.” Steve widens the splay of his legs and grinds his crotch into the front of Billy’s jeans. It thrills him that a shiver ripples through Billy. “Or at least this part of you wants to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s grip on his hips turns from casual control to pinching when he actually makes Steve stop squirming. Sigh a little ragged, Billy pins him on the spot with an amused look and shake of his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Teenagers,” he huffs. “I need to get back to the shop, I can’t leave Rhonda all alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sagging in Billy’s lap with his head thrown back, Steve whines, “No!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cut that shit out.” Billy shakes him a little until Steve’s head flops back down, chin almost in his chest as he pouts. He dares to try and rub them together again, but Billy’s hands don’t allow it. “Fuckin’ hate it when you whine like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing again, Billy lightens the grip of his hands and pets Steve’s bare skin above the elastic of his underwear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just… wait until tonight when we close the gift shop, okay? Think you can wait that long?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve blinks up through the wave of his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I come back to the shop with you? I’ll be good, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy hums like he’ll say no but drawls, “Okay, but I’m holding you to that promise.” His left hand releases Steve’s hip to point a finger at him. “No funny business, you understand?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A petulant hop is all Steve gets out before Billy warns him with a look—both eyes wider than they need to be, eyebrows climbing for his hairline. Steve practically hears the purred, ‘Down, boy,’ again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t do anything in public like that,” Steve huffs. “It’s nobody’s business what we do together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One of Billy’s hands has him by the back of the neck in the next second, his palm catching Steve’s jump. He urges Steve closer, murmurs, “Good boy,” and then slots their lips together with Steve’s already parted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The initial brush of callused skin on the back of his neck may have startled him, but Steve knows what he wants. He wants Billy right now, wants to say to hell with going back to the gift shop. Rhonda can handle herself for a little while longer! Steve whines like he can convince Billy to let them dawdle. If he kisses Billy long enough, they’ll get sidetracked. It’s wishful thinking even with his lips parted around slippery tongue, his own playing back despite how full his mouth is. He can’t get enough, paws at Billy’s chest for them to keep going. But Billy is the one to nudge them away after a nip to Steve’s bottom lip that pouts immediately when it’s over. Billy just hums and gives his neck another squeeze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We better start walking back now. So go put some real clothes on and we’ll get going.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later. Everything can wait until later. It’ll be good this time. Billy will be gentle with him like all the other times, make him feel good. Steve can forget all about his awful first time. Because he won’t allow the rose glass of nostalgia make him think it was anything other than awful. It’s just one more awakening to Billy, he supposes. He mulls over it while dressing alone in the bedroom. That pretty much every idea in his head about Billy has been proven false. Billy is not some suave, romantic man who swept him off his feet. Billy is abrasive and mean even when he likes the other person. Is a slob who lives in maybe the poorest place Steve has ever seen. More so than even Jonathan Byers, and that’s saying something. So… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stevie? You ready?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The illusion is long gone. It had to dissolve at some point. The mirage of his childhood fascination melts away into the man standing in the bedroom doorway now. Billy with his hair pulled back since he’s technically working, eyes a little tired but with an easy smirk under them. Steve always imagined them like watching mom’s old movies. Billy so bold and honorable with him. A stand-up citizen. He’s more like the thug who kidnaps the leading lady over his shoulder and runs away with her, laughing maniacally. Steve blushes a little in his cheeks and finds he doesn’t mind the truth. If he minded, he certainly wouldn’t have missed Billy during the long night without him, wouldn’t want to spend the rest of the boring day at the gift shop with him. But he loves Billy. That’s what matters at the end of the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yea, I’m ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Humming, Billy nods his head towards the teenager and says, “Your sunburn doesn’t look too bad, but being outside will make it hurt like a bitch. You wanna wear a hat or anything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What and mess up this ‘do?” Steve flicks a hand to his hair, finger waves in it from him playing with it. “No way, man, you’re gonna ruin my whole look.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy shrugs and adds, “Okay, gonna make for a painful walk to and back from the shop…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s help for the summer, Rhonda, leaves at 6 like she always does when she picks up a shift for Billy. Her presence makes Steve helping around the shop redundant, and he can’t exactly follow Billy around like a puppy. Even if he wants to. Wasting the time on the boardwalk or at the pier isn’t what he wants, either. They’ve talked, yes, but Steve knows their heart-to-heart doesn’t magically solve everything. The kiss his parents share after arguing is so bullshit. They’re clearly still mad at each other. One of them just gives up yelling at the other and they ‘make up.’ Steve doesn’t want that for them. So as he’d promised, he is on his best behavior in the shop. Despite him wanting nothing more than to jump back into things with Billy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They do a few days later. It’s Friday night, both of them sweating in bed despite the AC blasting them. The damp spot in the bed from Steve’s back is unpleasant, so he makes Billy lie in it instead. Which earns him a snort and blue eyes narrowed at him. Cheeky. This time is everything Steve had wanted: nice and slow, Billy murmuring terrible, wonderful things in his ear. Steve even manages to talk back, although his voice is lost the moment Billy finally slides inside him, amazing pressure and so slick. The pain from the first time washes away under every wave of pleasure. He comes shuddering and mewling in Billy’s loose hair with his nails in that golden, broad back. Someone may have pounded on the wall for them to give it a rest. Steve isn’t sure, thinks maybe he imagined that part. Anything is possible with him blissed out and cuddled to Billy’s chest. The hand in his hair is the best part of the afterglow. Even if Billy smokes a cigarette with the other…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nose wrinkled and voice plenty hoarse, Steve huffs, “Put that out, it stinks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy just stares right at him while blowing smoke above Steve’s head. Some of it filters down anyway, and Steve glares through the cloud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uncle Billy, come on…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another drag, and then, “You’ll appreciate smoking when you’re a little older.” He exhales up towards the ceiling. He doesn’t have any other options with the AC on full blast and blowing towards the bedroom door. “Although I recommend you don’t smoke since it’s a pain in the ass to quit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna smoke cigarettes,” Steve proclaims with his nose in the air. Like he’s above them. The haughty expression smoothes over some when he eyes Billy through his bangs. “I wanna smoke pot, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He recalls, of course, Billy’s little stash he’d found while snooping around the apartment. Innocent at the start and horrible by the end. There’s still the matter of the box to contend with, honestly. Steve hasn’t seen it since Billy took it away, but Billy hasn’t said anything about it either. So it’s probably still in the trunk of the Camaro. Set aside but not forgotten. They need to do something with it tonight, because Steve leaves bright and early for Chicago tomorrow. It’s their last night together. They’ve gotten the make-up sex out of the way, sensations Steve will use in the months to come to keep him company until Billy visits for Christmas. So it’s just the horrid box they need to deal with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Billy rolls back into the wet spot, grumbles about it, and then snatches the teenager up to kiss all over his face. “And how exactly are you gonna accomplish that? You delinquent.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy’s older brother will give us some. Tommy said he already tried it and said it felt amazing, like he was flying but his body was like too heavy to move. He said he just fell asleep because he couldn’t move.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy hums against his cheek, presses another kiss there, and then rests his head in the pillows. Steve is half piled on top of him, on Billy’s right side to sort of shield him from the AC. Even so, Steve sits up long enough to yank the blanket from where they’d kicked it to the corner of the bed and sort of flicks it over them. He’s back where he belongs in a blink, rubbing his smooth cheek all over the burning warmth of Billy’s chest, whatever’s in range. Billy’s hand in his hair calms his body but not his mind. The box pierces through the afterglow and doesn’t allow him to enjoy it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Stevie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve’s fingers curl up on Billy’s chest. They’re ice cold from nerves, not the AC.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sucks that I’m going home tomorrow…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s arm around him rolls Steve tighter to him. His nose is in Steve’s hair when he takes a deep breath in and then sighs on the exhale. That rumbling voice of his leaks through until the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, buddy. Christmas is a long ways off, but with you in school, it’ll fly by, you’ll see.” Billy squeezes him and kisses his hair. “You know I’ll fly out to come see you. If only to piss off your parents, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Head resting on Billy’s chest, Steve only hears the easy grin on Billy’s lips. Steve wishes he could be so at ease. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yea…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushes himself to sit up, can’t take it anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you gonna throw the box away like you said you would?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy blinks at him, surprised, before a shapely eyebrow flicks up at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve been meaning to, Stevie, but it’s not like I wanna just dump it in a trash can anywhere. It’s not as bad as pictures of you or anything, but I still wanna make sure it’s all gone for good, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy is right. They’re still pictures of two men having sex. Things are becoming more progressive all the time, but it’s still dangerous. Steve reels in much of his annoyance, and it turns to sheepishness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry… I thought maybe you forgot?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A sigh, and Billy sits up with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t forget. You wanna do it right now? We can probably figure something out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fire can make a conscious clean. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t we burn the photos?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s expression is bored when he murmurs, “And where exactly would you like me to start said fire?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve glances to the sheet pinned over the window. It’s dark out. Past 9 at night. The beach is technically closed, but…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t we walk to the beach and do it down there? It can’t get out of control, and there won’t be any evidence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still just as bored, Billy drawls, “And the tape?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve shrugs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We can smash it up and burn the ribbon or whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a good fucking idea, okay? Steve knows he’s not wicked smart, but he has good ideas. And this is better than anything Billy has come up with. Steve won’t imply he thinks Billy didn’t truly think of how to get rid of the box. That would open a can of worms on the eve of his departure, and he doesn’t want any more bullshit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Popping onto his knees, Steve gives a few hops and says, “Come on, it’ll be fun! What, you don’t like setting stuff on fire?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you secretly been a little pyro this whole time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve makes a face at him, rolling his eyes for flourish, and then springs from the bed. Long legs scrambling to catch him, Steve dances around for a second before standing at Billy’s side with hands on his hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know I’m just gonna whine until you get up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy tips his head down, staring at Steve like he’s looking over sunglasses. A breath hisses between pale lips, Billy murmuring, “What a brat,” under his breath, and then swings his legs around to stand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hopping back to make room, Steve cranes up on his toes to steal a kiss and then bounds away before Billy retaliates. Not quickly enough, though, because bright pain lights up on his ass and he almost falls to the carpet when he yelps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s for being cheeky, little boy.” Billy’s hands take his hips only to spin him around. Steve is almost dizzy when Billy drags him closer and murmurs against his lips, “You’re lucky I love you so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve knows better now than ever before. The tenderness between them in the aftermath of their heart-to-heart had been sweet, sweeter than he thought Billy capable of. Did it make up for them screaming at each other? Not quite, but that will heal with time. He has Billy’s repentance, and Billy has his forgiveness in return. Billy is right, that Steve’s insecurities will smooth as he ages. Steve doesn’t have any proof of this, but Billy is smart and older, so it’s easy to just believe him. Billy wouldn’t lie about that. They don’t lie to each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Parting and standing flat on the floor again, Steve huffs, “Stop trying to distract me and put clothes on already.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy shakes his head, chuckles, “Someone put a bee in your bonnet,” but he bends down to scoop up his jeans and t-shirt he’d worn to work today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s that even supposed to mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve doesn’t yet have his shorts up on his hips when Billy swipes at his ass again. Two taps in a short amount of time jar him, remind him of what they’ve just done. He bites back a whimper and turns a quick glare over his shoulder. Billy is the picture of innocence where he zips up and tucks his t-shirt into his jeans. He catches Steve watching, or maybe Steve allows himself to be caught, and then Billy is all smug grins.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well? Hop to it, pretty boy, let’s get a move on.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, since they’re dealing with the box, Billy has to slip it from the trunk of the Camaro and walk beside Steve with it. Steve deliberately walks on Billy’s right side. Because Billy tucks the shoebox under his left arm like he would a basketball. Even with only patches of light from streetlights on top of their towering poles, Steve still spies the box as they walk. They need something to talk about, anything, so Steve latches onto that thread rather than allow himself to unravel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I, uh, I’m gonna be a junior in September.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve nods and hums.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep. I’m gonna try out for the basketball team. They let juniors join the team, so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s smirk is in his voice as they walk down the dark sidewalk, asking, “You any good or…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy and I used to play against his brother when we were younger. We won a lot, and we still hang out and play, just one-on-one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, me thinks maybe Tommy’s brother let you guys win more than you think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve makes a face and lightly shoves at the bulge of Billy’s arm. The sleeve of his t-shirt stretches to the breaking point, threads screaming. Steve’s casual annoyance, typical when Billy is being an asshole, forgets its purpose as Steve stares. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You having fun there, Stevie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Caught looking again, this time on accident, Steve just marches ahead of Billy with a huff. The walk to the beach isn’t that far, and taking the Camaro would have been a bigger pain in the ass. Nowhere to park. But the night is fresh and soothing, so Steve doesn’t mind the walk. After two weeks here, Steve likes to think he’s used to the different heat. Not as muggy, always a breeze. Not choking or soupy like it is in Hawkins. Christ, he doesn’t want to go back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the walk is melancholy like that as Steve clings to these halcyon days. He’ll remember some days more fondly than others, of course. The cherished memories will have to get him through to Christmas. With any luck, Billy will stay again and spend more time with him. Under the guise of keeping him company while his parents fuck off, of course, but…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sand sprays under their feet as they hit the beach when Steve mumbles, “Uncle Billy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yea?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There are no lights down here. Just the glow from the pier and the moon. The sloshing of waves busies the air and fills that darkness, lessens how claustrophobic it is. Steve cannot afford too much boldness. Someone could still see. So Steve does not reach out to touch Billy. But he wants to. Meeting the wetness of Billy’s eyes in the dark, he thinks Billy wants him, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You better come see me at Christmas. And answer the phone when I call.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can just imagine one of Billy’s eyebrows flicking high and the tug on his lips when he drawls, “Is that so? Somebody’s feeling bossy tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Steve doesn’t mean it as a joke. Because even though they’re together right now, about to burn the painful history between Billy and Dad, Steve already misses him. He hasn’t even left yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, sneakers with sand in them already, Steve shuffles to stand in Billy’s shadow. Billy’s back is to the street, where they’d come from. He cannot be bold. But he can be truthful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean it,” he says with his voice only breaking a little. He stares at the center of Billy’s chest and adds, “I’m gonna miss you every second until then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy steps around him with a hum. Even in shadows, the box draws Steve’s attention. He bends out of the way so Billy doesn’t touch him with it. Some of the ache in his heart lifts when their shoulders brush as Billy passes him. Casual. No one would think twice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on,” Billy coaxes. As much as Billy can coax. “Someone will see a fire from here and call the cops. We gotta walk down the beach.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The further from light they wander, the more Steve trusts the safety of the dark. Again, he fills the space to Billy’s right. Steve is between Billy and the ocean, the demarcation line between dry land and the sea. With no one around, Steve checking over his shoulder multiple times, he allows his fingers to brush Billy’s in the dark. When Billy doesn’t deny him, Steve curls his pinky around Billy’s. Because Billy doesn’t like people hanging all over him. Even if he says he doesn’t mind with Steve, Steve easily sees himself outstaying that welcome. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s voice out of nowhere, out of the darkness and static of waves, almost sends Steve’s hand flinching away. If not for Billy’s pinky sort of trapping him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” is his gut reaction. But Billy hums, sort of a grunt, and curls his pinky tighter around Steve’s. Oh, that’s right, he’s supposed to tell Billy when he’s insecure about something. A big part of their make-up discussion had been about this exact thing. “Sorry, I just… I wish I could hold your hand right now. But we can’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s curls catch what little light there is out here, just enough to see where they’re walking, as he glances over his shoulders. Like Steve had moments ago. Coast clear, Billy doesn’t hesitate  to take Steve’s hand. It always thrills Steve how their hands are almost the same size. His will be bigger than Billy’s when he hits another growth spurt. Despite their ages, he’ll be taller than Billy, but certainly not broader. Steve’s heart takes off like a jet when Billy clasps their palms together, his thick fingers curling over Steve’s hand. It’s not exactly what Steve wants, but he understands the why behind it. It’s easier for them to drop their hands and spring apart if they don’t have to worry about threaded fingers getting in the way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Better?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yea,” Steve sighs, almost loopy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They don’t need words the rest of the way. Something unknown, maybe the distance from lights, the seclusion, something draws Billy to a stop on a stretch of beach. A dune piles up against a hill of dirt where grasses spring out like stubborn hairs that won’t stay down. It’s a big enough hump on the beach to shield them. It’s cozy despite the open air around them, the ocean stretching to the other side of the planet in front of them. Steve startles in the dark at the click of something metallic. Billy flicking his Zippo open and shut. But not striking the flint. Not yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sand scatters when Billy drops the shoebox without a care to their feet. He kicks it around to shuffle it closer to the waves lapping the beach dark. If the fire gets out of hand, Billy can just boot it the rest of the way into the ocean, most likely. Dropping like a shadow, he squats above the box, slips the lid free, and then picks up the tape. Steve’s breath freezes in his throat as Billy considers the plastic thing, flips it over a few times for good measure. The moment lasts longer for Steve than reality, because Billy glances up to him, moonlight stark on his face, and he waggles the tape up at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna do the honors?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve takes the tape and holds it in his hands like it has teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you think I can smash it? I’m only wearing sneakers…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy shrugs and turns back to the open maw of the box. The Polaroids are face down. A small blessing that his father’s eyes do not stare up at him from the past.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Give it a shot. If you can’t bust it, I’ll trade you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ‘trade’ becomes evident when Billy drops to his ass in the sand, picks up a Polaroid, and then holds a steady flame to a corner. He lights up a few at a time. Testing to see just how flammable they are. The wind doesn’t play fair, though, and either snuffs the burning photo out or sasses Billy directly and blows the Zippo out. Tape forgotten for now, Steve watches with a smile bitten in his lip as Billy tries to get two photos pinned in his fingers to take light. When flames lick up them, sort of melting the white frame, he drops both into the shoebox. With more fuel, layers of it, the fire winds its war against the wind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who knew that was gonna be a pain in the ass,” Billy says with his head pointed into the wind. His hair is down from them fucking, and the breeze plays with curls light enough to dance with. They smack into Billy’s face, fire light casting him in flickering oranges and yellows, when he cocks his head up at Steve. “Well?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, the tape. Duh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y-yea, sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drops the tape like it’s bitten him and then rears a foot up to stomp on it. The force of the impact shoots up his ankle as teeth-chattering pain. Nope, not like that. Stepping down with his whole foot won’t work. Hands balled into fists and jerking to keep his balance, Steve slams his heel into the clear windows of the VHS tape instead, surely a vulnerable area. Plastic cracks and wants to break, but it’s not enough. Steve’s shoulders slouch when he gives up, but Billy pops up from the ground before disappointment sets in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy presses the Zippo into his palm. It’s warm from Billy’s skin, and Steve pets his thumb over the worn front. He stumbles back when Billy takes a turn with his boots and smashes clean through the fucking tape no problem. There’s no hurt or upset, though, because no shit Billy is stronger than him. Steve smiles at the display rather than frowning or huffing about it. No way was he going to bust that tape open. It means everything to him that Billy let him try, though. And then didn’t ridicule him when he couldn’t do it. Billy huffs at him, smirk on his face, and then swoops down to collect the unraveling data ribbon in his fingers. It’s the guts of some awful creature dripping from his hand. It’s dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wanna watch this shit burn up, baby boy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A harder breeze plays with their hair but cannot sweep away Steve’s huge smile and holler of, “Hell yea!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve shuffles in the sand to finally approach the flames licking in the shoebox. How long before it burns through the box itself and then meets sand? Will the sand catch on fire? No, that can’t be right. The flames twirling with the wind have plenty to eat, more so when Billy pours the ribbon out of his hand. It lands with a crackle, the flame dying a bit from suffocation, and then the heat gladly takes to more debris, more trash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy doesn’t sit down again, content with leaving his back to the direction they’d come from. Steve squeezes in next to him. Their arms brush for a moment before Billy throws that arm around him. It’s a friendly sort of hug, but Steve leans into Billy all the same, rests his head on the ball of Billy’s shoulder. What they’ll do with the remains of the box, Steve has no clue. Billy probably has a plan for that. A plan always lurks around in Billy’s head. A happy sigh whispers out of Steve, because now with the history between Billy and Bobby gone, he doesn’t have to think anymore about it. The shadow over his happiness is lifted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reaching across himself for Billy’s hand cupping his shoulder, Steve says into the wind, “I love you, Uncle Billy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some heat from the fire drifts on that breeze to pet Steve’s face. He just nuzzles that heat into Billy’s t-shirt, his skin under that. It won’t burn for much longer, fuel almost used up. The data ribbon from the tape had withered and curled up in a few breaths. Steve knows he won’t want to leave until all of it is gone. Until they kick their shoes at the sand and only leave a scorch mark behind, mixing that into the sand too until nothing is left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy squeezes him tightly to his side and rumbles right back in Steve’s hair, “I love you more, baby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve picks his head up at that. He recalls his silent plea to the universe to guide the invisible hand of fate to the destiny he’d wanted. To guide him and Billy together, because it wanted him to have this. And now months later, he does. Billy is his in a way he was never Bobby’s, will hopefully never be anyone else’s again. Now, now the dark emboldens Steve. He nudges them around in the dying light and stink of the fire, burning plastic and chemicals, to stand toe-to-toe with Billy in the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Promise?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’ll need this reassurance and so much more in the coming months. No doubt Tommy, school, and drama with his parents will keep him busy. Billy had said as much, and Steve doesn’t doubt it. That won’t distract him from missing Billy, though. Will Billy miss him, too?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s face is easy in the moonlight when he smiles and says, “Promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Billy’s back is still to the distant lights of the pier when Steve arches up on his toes. Just a tiny bit to crane his head forward. If Billy will kiss him. If Billy will allow the risk. That’s what this has all been about: risk. The risk of rejection, the risk of discovery, of everything falling apart. They’ve beaten all the odds. Steve steadies himself with hands sliding over cotton and heat, Billy’s heart not fluttering at all like the hummingbird flitting around inside Steve. It may take off and zip far from here. He’ll certainly be leaving some of it here. He won’t be complete until they’re together during Christmas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna go home,” Steve pleads with his chin tilted up, afraid of that future but hungry for Billy now. “I don’t wanna leave.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’ll only be for a little while,” Billy assures him. His hands are slower to take Steve’s waist, but the pressure of his grip draws Steve’s tension right out of him. A chaste kiss smears across his lips, then Billy murmurs against him, “Gonna miss my little buddy, too. Every damn day, Steve.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’ll cry tomorrow. Most definitely after their last hug goodbye. The last kiss will take place before then, of course. For now, he refuses the sting in his eyes when he throws his arms around Billy’s neck to hold on. The fire is nothing at their feet as they stumble in the sand, Steve’s weight just enough to tip Billy’s balance. Billy would never let him fall, though, and catches him with his boot heels digging into the sand for purchase. A single huff of a laugh bounces between them. Steve hides a wiry smile in Billy’s neck, clutching him tightly. His jaw wants to tremble, but he’ll refuse that, too. This isn’t the end of them. It’s just the end of their summer. He’ll have Christmas and phone calls to spare between then and now and even longer after. Until he can be with Billy again. Billy sways them a little while Steve collects himself. He even smiles while swaying with Billy, dancing to the waves and the night. Because this is just the beginning of their life-long love affair. The universe wills it so.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Do you like Max? Would you like to see some extra scenes? Please check out <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26582410">this</a> written by Lucdarling! They're sort of extra scenes told from Max's POV (she's aged up, hence the title "Aunt Max" lol). If you're not ready for the journey to be over, give it a click!</p>
        </blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26582410">Aunt Max</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucdarling/pseuds/lucdarling">lucdarling</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
</body>
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